


All I Want For Christmas

by xxSparksxx



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: Ross needs a date for his family’s Christmas Eve party, and asks his friend Demelza to come with him. Demelza has been secretly in love with him for two years, and can’t bring herself to say no. This could be the worst decision she’s ever made…or the best one.AKA: a fluff-filled, cliché-ridden modern AU Christmas fic.





	1. I don't want a lot for Christmas; there's just one thing I need

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most tooth-rotting fluff imaginable. I deliberately set out to hit ALL the clichés. You have been duly warned.
> 
> Beta-read by the lovely mmmuse.
> 
> Merry Christmas, everybody :)

“Demelza! Just the woman I wanted to see.”

Demelza made a face to herself and straightened up, leaving the box of paperwork on the ground. “Hi, Ross,” she greeted. “What do you need?” How it was only half eleven, she couldn’t imagine. She felt like she’d been on the go for hours. Well, she reminded herself ruefully, she _had_ been on the go for hours. Up at the crack of dawn to walk the dog, then she’d got the boys up and ready for school to help her sister-in-law, and finally the rush to catch the bus for her half-hour commute to work. And work had been busy this morning, too. Senior management had been in – not just the chief executive, Ross Poldark, who was here every day, but all the trustees too. There’d been a big meeting over Ross’s ideas for expanding in the new year, and Demelza had been run off her feet, beforehand, making sure that everyone was ready for it. It wasn’t her job – Jinny was office manager, so it was her responsibility. And Jinny _had_ done the bulk of the work, but Demelza had trailed along behind her, determined that everything would be perfect for Ross’s big pitch. He deserved nothing less, but it had all left her counting the minutes until her lunch break.

“…what makes you assume I need something?” Ross protested. Demelza arched an eyebrow, and looked pointedly at the cup of steaming tea he was holding in his right hand. Ross didn’t drink tea – only coffee. The tea was a bribe, and they both knew it. Ross’s faux-innocent act didn’t hold out for long. He grinned, and offered her the cup. “Okay, okay, I need something,” he relented.

“You shouldn’t be making me tea,” Demelza said mildly, her weariness smoothed over, as ever, by the sight of his boyish smile. He always did that – made her feel better, just by smiling. Damn him for it. She really was a fool. “But thanks.” She took the tea, sipped cautiously, and tried not to smile. He’d got it right; not too milky, not too sweet. He must have checked with Jinny how she took her tea – he’d made her a cup once or twice before, but not often enough to remember her preferences. It was nice he’d made the effort. “So, what do you need?” she asked again.

“Actually, it’s kind of a favour,” said Ross. He took his other hand out of his jacket pocket and held out a bag of Maltesers. Demelza blinked. “Kind of a massive really big I’ll-owe-you-forever favour,” he hedged. “You like these, right? I’ve seen you eating them sometimes.”

Demelza blinked again, and reached out on auto-pilot to take the packet from him. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I do.” She stared down at the innocuous plastic bag of chocolates. Then she turned and put the chocolates and tea down on her paper-strewn desk. “Okay, what’s going on?” she demanded. “If this is about the overtime after Christmas – I can do it, I just need to sort out some childcare –,”

“No, no, it’s not about that.” Ross nudged the door shut with his foot, and then leaned back against it. He’d stopped smiling, and now he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked soberly at her. “It really is a favour. You don’t have to say yes. I know it’s…” He grimaced. “Well, it’s a lot. But I’m desperate, frankly.”

Demelza folded her arms, and tried not to look like she cared too much about whatever it was that might cause Ross to be desperate. “My mum always used to say if you don’t ask, you won’t get,” she said. “So what is it?

“I need a date for my family’s Christmas get-together,” he blurted out. Demelza opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say. “I know, I know,” Ross moaned, pulling his hands out of his pockets again and running his fingers through his hair. “I’m rubbish, I shouldn’t be asking, but you have _no idea_ what they’re like, and if I turn up by myself it’s going to be hell – everybody walking around on tiptoes because of my cousin and Eli- ,” He cut himself off, but she knew what he was going to say. His cousin Francis and Francis’s new bride, Elizabeth, who had been Ross’s girlfriend up until about a year before. Oh yes, Demelza knew all about that. She worked side by side with Ross pretty much every day; she knew about Elizabeth, and Ross’s subsequent heartbreak. It was one reason – though far from the only reason – that she had never, _ever_ allowed anything to show of her own feelings for Ross. 

She cleared her throat. “Look, Ross,” she began.

“I know, I shouldn’t ask,” he said again, before she could continue. “It’s ridiculous, really, I should just face up to it all – and I definitely shouldn’t be asking you, I’m really not trying to…” He waved a hand in the air. “Take advantage, or anything. Seriously, I’ll completely understand if you don’t want to. It’s just…” He sighed, and looked straight at her. “I could do with a friend with me,” he said. His jaw was set, his eyebrows drawn together, as if he was admitting something that he didn’t want to admit. “Someone I’m comfortable with.”

It was nicer than she wanted it to be, being hearing that. Hearing that he was comfortable with her, knowing that _she_ was the one he’d chosen to come to with what a request that was, frankly, every bit as big of a favour as he’d suggested it would be. And he was asking her on a _date_. It would all be pretend; they would both know the truth. But if they were going to do it at all, it would have to be done convincingly, so Ross would have to put his arm around her, be attentive to her – he might even have to kiss her. She would know what it was like. For one evening, she would know what it was like to be loved by him.

It couldn’t happen, of course. She couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t risk him ever finding out what she felt about him. There was no chance he would return her feelings, and Demelza refused to end up an object of his pity. Even one evening might be enough to make it plain to him that she didn’t need to act the part; she really did love him. And even if he didn’t realise it, she couldn’t do it to herself. It would hurt too much to have him for one evening, for one glorious lie of an evening, and then just go back to work as his employee. 

She took a deep breath. It must be a ‘no’. It was best all around if she said no. She opened her mouth to say so.

“When is it?” she asked instead, the words escaping despite her best intentions.

Ross brightened. “Christmas Eve,” he said. He was beginning to smile again, that creeping warm expression that made her want to do pretty much anything to keep him looking like that. “I usually stay over after, have breakfast with them – I mean, I always used to, and my cousin Verity says I should still, but you don’t have to, obviously.”

“No, I’d have to be home,” Demelza said faintly. She wondered if this was what an out of body experience was like. It was her mouth opening, her voice speaking, but somebody else seemed to be in control. “My nephews, you know…”

“Of course.” Ross grinned at her. Damn him, she thought. Damn, damn, damn. “God, I can’t thank you enough, honestly. I’ll email you the details, yeah?” He didn’t wait for an answer, turning to open the door again. “Drink your tea before it gets cold,” he advised. “And don’t work through your lunch break again. I know it’s been crazy today, but it can all wait until after you’ve eaten.”

“Sure,” Demelza said, as he left her little office and headed back for his own. With the door open, all the noise of the open-plan office space came flooding back in. Everybody was busy, not just from today’s meeting but with Christmas only next week. Volunteers, employees, everybody was trying to get things into a state where they could be left for a week until the new year. Demelza heard the kettle boil, and Jim and Jinny laughing together, and then Ross’s laughter joining in with theirs as he paused beside their desks. “Crazy,” she whispered. She looked down at the cup of tea and the Maltesers he’d brought her. “Totally and absolutely bloody crazy. Demelza Carne, you bloody idiot.”

* * *

“You’re a bloody idiot.”

Demelza let her head drop until her forehead was pressed against the kitchen table. “I know,” she groaned. “You don’t have to keep saying it.”

Rosie Carne, her sister-in-law, made a rude sound. “Well, apparently, I do,” she said. She shut the oven door and set the timer. It was a Wednesday, and that meant fish pie – the boys’ favourite, made every Wednesday even though both Rosie and Demelza were bored of it. Demelza had made it before Rosie got home, overseen with intense scrutiny by both of her nephews, who had conveniently vanished as soon as it was time to clean up. “Honestly, Demelza,” Rosie went on, “you’re in love with the man. God knows how you’ve kept it a secret this long – I love you, sweetie, but the world’s best actress you are _not_ – and now you’re going to have to spend a whole evening pretending to be his girlfriend. It’s going to be a total bloody disaster.”

“I know,” Demelza repeated, dragging out the word into a long moan. “I know. Ugh, it’s just…he looks at me, and he smiles, and I just…” That smile. Ever since she’d first started working at the Trust, that damn smile had made her stomach flutter like she’d swallowed a load of butterflies. She wasn’t smitten – not really. At least, she wasn’t smitten enough to make a fool out of herself. She kept herself collected and professional, at the office. Rosie was right, she wasn’t a good actress, but she’d kept a lid on her feelings and she was absolutely certain that nobody in the office, and especially not Ross, had a clue that she harboured any kind of romantic feelings for him. But oh, that smile. She was a sucker for that smile. Whenever he directed it at her, she ended up wanting to say yes to whatever he needed, just to keep him smiling. It was ridiculous, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

She lifted her head again and made a face at Rosie. “I meant to say no,” she said. “I meant to. I know how stupid it is. But he looked so desperate. And he brought me tea, and chocolate! Seriously, Rosie, could you have said no?

“…Probably not, with that kind of a bribe,” Rosie admitted, smiling at last. She looked tired. She’d done three night shifts this week, and the boys were a handful even on a good night’s sleep. And she hadn’t heard from Sam for a few days; Rosie was always tense when he was out of contact for more than forty-eight hours. He’d been gone for three months now, and wasn’t due back for at least another three, and though he ought to be able to get some leave before then, the time always passed too slowly for Rosie’s liking. “I do get it,” Rosie went on. “For me, with Sam…” She trailed off, and shrugged a shoulder. Demelza poured her a glass of wine, and Rosie came to sit down at the table. She drank some wine and was silent for a few moments, a far-off look on her face. Then she visibly shook herself. “But you know it’s all going to end in tears,” she warned. “You _know_ that.”

“I do know,” Demelza sighed. 

“You can’t spend the rest of your life pretending you’re not in love with him,” Rosie pressed on. “Sooner or later, you’re either going to have to grow some balls and _tell_ him, or…”

“Or what? Quit? But I love my job.” Rosie pursed her lips, and Demelza grimaced again and had to look away. “And I can’t tell him,” she added. “I just…I can’t, Rosie. I’m not a coward – you know I’m not – but he doesn’t think of me like that, and if I said anything…well, then I really _would_ have to quit, because I’d never be able to show my face in the office again. It’d be too embarrassing.”

It was two years since she’d joined the Poldark Charitable Trust, first as a temp, and then on a permanent contract. Two years since she’d met Ross Poldark, the CEO who ran the Trust that had been set up by his mother a decade before. And a little under two years since she’d realised she was head over heels in love with him, even though he was never anything but friendly to her, and even though he had been involved with someone else for the first ten months or so of her time at the Trust.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome, though he was. Even at first, it hadn’t just been his looks. He’d just been so…so very _Ross_. Friendly and down-to-earth, interested in why she wanted to work with his Trust, asking sensible questions about her qualifications and background. And then, once she’d started working for him, his friendliness had extended into other things. He’d spotted a picture on her desk of her two young nephews, and been genuinely interested in hearing about them. He’d even said she could bring them by the office if she and her sister-in-law were ever really stuck on childcare – and he’d meant it, too, as he’d proved on a handful of occasions when arrangements had fallen through and Demelza had had no choice but to take the boys to work with her.

He was generous to all his employees like that, so completely understanding of family situations. He always asked about Jim’s ill mother, and Jinny’s young daughter. He was kind to a fault, always seeing the best in everyone – not naively, but encouragingly. He made people believe in themselves. He knew everyone who worked on the Trust’s projects, everyone who received aid from them, and he made everyone he met feel like they wanted to do better, to be worthy of his attention and to avoid disappointing him. According to Jinny, he’d changed her life. She’d been a participant of one of the Trust’s earliest ventures with disadvantaged children. A single mother at fifteen, Jinny had seemed destined for nothing – so Jinny described herself – until Ross came along and signed her up for the parenting classes the Trust was running. Then three years later, after Jinny had managed to scrape her GCSEs, he’d given her a job. 

Demelza had been utterly in love with him before she’d even realised it. And ever since she’d realised, she’d kept her feelings hidden and kept their relationship professional and friendly. Because first of all there had been his girlfriend, Elizabeth, and then there’d been the heartbreak of her leaving him for his cousin. Five months ago, Elizabeth and Francis Poldark had married, and it was only in the past couple of months that Ross had stopped going around looking haggard and forlorn. He’d tried not to let it affect his work, but Demelza worked too closely with him to avoid seeing it. He’d had his heart well and truly broken, and Demelza had been anguished on his behalf. He was still hurting, she knew – which was reason enough not to let on that she wished for more than friendship from him. He was still at least partly in love with Elizabeth, and Demelza refused to put herself into the position of being anybody’s rebound relationship.

And if all those reasons weren’t enough, there was also Demelza’s nagging fear that she just wasn’t good enough for him. Elizabeth, after all, was graceful, and refined, and highly educated. Demelza was tall and skinny and awkward. And she was coarse – she could swear every bit as much as her soldier brother, on occasion, while Elizabeth probably never said anything worse than ‘damn’. And though Demelza had a degree, it wasn’t from Oxbridge, like Ross and Elizabeth. There were just so many ways in which Demelza felt herself to be inferior to Elizabeth. She didn’t lack self-confidence – she’d grown up with three boisterous brothers, and she’d had to be self-assured to keep from being drowned out – but even so, there was still a little voice in the back of her mind, pointing out all the ways in which she compared badly to Ross’s ex-girlfriend. 

“Hey. Earth to Demelza.” Rosie snapped her fingers in front of Demelza’s face. She grinned when Demelza jumped slightly at the sound and the proximity of Rosie’s hand. “So?” she prodded. “What are you going to do?”

Demelza shrugged, and drank some more wine. “I have no idea,” she said. “I just…I couldn’t say no, Rosie. I know it’s stupid and I’m probably going to end up hurt, but I couldn’t say no.” He’d looked at her with those dark eyes and he’d told her he needed a friend with him. Someone he was comfortable with, he’d said. She knew how difficult it was likely to be for him, stuck in a family party with the woman he’d thought he was going to marry, now married to his cousin. He would cope if he had to, she knew, but he’d asked for support. And he’d come to _her_ for it, he’d called her his friend and asked her to help him. And if Demelza could be nothing else to him, she could be his friend. 

Friends helped each other. That was what she was doing; she was helping a _friend_. If she kept that firmly in mind, she’d be okay. She could keep it all hidden for Ross’s sake, to help him cope with this difficult party. She’d be okay.

“I know you couldn’t,” said Rosie, all sympathy now, all warm compassion. “And I swear I won’t say another word about it, if you don’t want me to. I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I know,” Demelza assured her. “And I appreciate it. I’ll be careful, I promise. It’s just one evening, after all. And we’re friends. Sort of friends. There won’t be any surprises, anyway. It’ll be fine.”

Rosie looked sceptical, but her attention was distracted by a thump in the sitting room, followed a moment later by the sound of something smashing, and then the unmistakeable silence of a pair of young boys who knew they were going to be in trouble for whatever it was they’d just done. Rosie closed her eyes, and mouthed something that looked like one of Sam’s unspeakable army curses. Demelza hid a smile behind her wine glass. It wasn’t funny, really, and no doubt she would be just as cross as Rosie, if it turned out the boys had broken yet another glass or chipped another plate – but it never ceased to amuse her how Rosie could be sweetness and light when it came to her patients, but swear like a trooper as soon as the uniform was off. Then Rosie opened her eyes again and leaned back in her chair.

“Drake!” she shouted. “Johnny! Don’t make me come in there!”

* * *

The phone rang just as Ross was straining pasta for his supper, and the suddenness of his cousin Verity’s ringtone blaring into his quiet flat made him jump. Boiling water splashed onto his shirt and onto his bare foot, and he swore, dropped the saucepan into the sink, and reached for his phone while he pulled the wet fabric away from him.

“Yeah, hi, hold on,” he instructed. He put the phone down on the counter without waiting for an answer, finished draining the pasta, and assessed himself. The water on his shirt was cooling already, so he wouldn’t bother taking it off. The skin on the top of his foot was a little tender, but he’d live. He picked the phone back up. “Sorry, Verity,” he said. “You caught me at a bad moment.”

“ _So I gathered,_ ” said Verity, her voice rich with laughter. “ _Everything okay?_ ”

“Yeah, just almost scalded myself on the pasta water.” There was a pregnant silence, and Ross smiled to himself as he imagined the exasperated look on her face. His kitchen accidents were something of a family legend, and Ross had long since given up any hope of changing his culinary reputation. He was a disaster in the kitchen, and there was no denying it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t cook – his mother had made sure he could – but somehow he always seemed to end up spilling things, dropping things, burning things…Elizabeth had always joked that she never dared go into the kitchen if he was there.

His smile faded away. Elizabeth. One of these days, he vowed, he would go a whole week without being reminded of her. It was getting better. Bit by bit, it was getting easier. When she’d first left him – and left him for _Francis_ , his cousin – Ross had been so devastated he’d barely been sober for a week. After that he’d had to pull his socks up, because the Trust depended on him. Work had been a comfort, in all honesty; it had kept him from getting too drunk too often, had kept him focused on something other than himself. He’d had to focus on people in a worse state than he was, and it had been a very powerful way of putting his own life into perspective. And the office, at least, had very few memories of Elizabeth connected to it. She’d been there a few times, usually to pick him up at the end of the day so they could go out somewhere together, but mostly she’d kept a line drawn between his work and their relationship. Looking back on that, Ross could see it had been a fault line in their relationship. Elizabeth had never been much interested in his work, the work into which Ross poured his heart and soul.

Demelza had been a godsend, all that time after the break-up. Unlike most people, she hadn’t plied him with sympathy, or battered him with offers to talk if he needed it. She’d just got on and done her job, quietly and diligently and without fuss. More than once she’d crisis-managed problems before they escalated into disasters, keeping it from Ross’s door whenever she could. And more than once he’d got into the office and found a coffee and a home-made biscuit or slice of cake left on his desk, too. She’d never claimed responsibility, and Ross had been too touched by the silent gesture to want to point a finger at her if she was determined to go unrecognised for it, but really, there was nobody else it could have been. Demelza was the only person in the office who baked. 

Work was easy enough, but home was a different matter altogether. He was sometimes tempted to move out. He could rent out the house easily enough, find himself a small flat in Truro. A fresh start, somewhere with no memories. At least for a while. Give himself a break, away from the home he’d hoped to share with Elizabeth. A way to prove to himself that he really was over her – which he was, truly. There would always be pain there, and a bitterness over the way she’d gone from his bed to Francis’s, but the very way she’d done it had caused a fatal break of the bond he’d thought existed between them. It had shown him a side of her that he’d not seen before. It was going to be hard at Christmas, because he did still love her in some way, and there was no getting away from the awkward fact that she was now his cousin’s wife. But he’d be able to get through it much better with a friend at his side, and Verity’s call had reminded him that he needed to let her know he was bringing a plus one. 

“ _Ross? Are you still there, or have you dropped the phone in your food?_ ”

“Oh, ha, ha,” Ross retorted. “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, been a hectic week at work. My mind’s all over the place. How’re you doing? And Uncle Charles?”

“ _Oh, well, you know,_ ” she sighed. “ _About the same as usual. He’s absolutely refusing to stick to the diet over Christmas, and he’s bullied Francis into being on his side._ ”

“I suppose it’s only a couple of days,” Ross said doubtfully. Verity snorted, and Ross shrugged, even though she couldn’t see him. He dished up his supper, grabbed a fork from the drawer, and then headed into the lounge-cum-dining area. He bypassed the table in favour of the couch, where an open bottle of beer was waiting for him. “Well, he _is_ a grown-up,” he pointed out. “You can’t make him do the right things if he’s determined not to. He’s as stubborn as the rest of us. Don’t wear yourself out battling him, Verity.”

“ _I’ll try,_ ” she said, with another sigh. Ross made a face. She’d gone part-time at work in order to give her father the care he needed following a heart attack and then a minor stroke, but Charles had never been a man given to express thanks, ungracious in word and deed for anything he considered his due, and he seemed to have remained unappreciative of all that Verity did for him. More than once Ross had wished he could shake some sense into his uncle, but it wasn’t his place, and Verity rarely uttered a word of complaint. “ _Anyway, about Christmas,_ ” Verity moved on. “ _You_ are _coming_ , aren’t you?”

“I said I was.” He hesitated for a moment, but it was better to get it over with quickly. “I’m actually, uh…I’m bringing a date. If that’s okay, obviously.” He heard Verity inhale, but then there was silence. Ross stirred his fork through the pasta, and put the phone on speaker so he could begin eating before it got too cold. Verity wouldn’t mind. “We were thinking of going out to dinner,” he lied through his teeth, “but obviously we always have Christmas Eve together. The family, I mean. So I said she should come with me, instead.” Lie compounding upon lie. He hated lying to Verity – she never deserved it – but in this case, it was the only way forward. If Verity knew it wasn’t real, the whole thing would be a waste. If _she_ believed it was a date, that Demelza was his girlfriend, then everyone else would believe it too, because Verity was incapable of subterfuge and everyone knew it. “She can’t stay the night, though,” he added, when Verity still said nothing. “She lives with her sister-in-law and helps out with her nephews, so obviously –,”

“ _Wait, you mean_ Demelza?” Verity interrupted. “ _You’ve been seeing_ Demelza _? Since when? Oh my god, why didn’t you_ tell _me? Oh, I’m so happy for you!_ ”

“You…are?” Ross was taken off-balance. “Wait, how did you know I meant Demelza?” He hadn’t known how this conversation would go, but he hadn’t for a moment imagined that Verity would know who he was talking about before he even mentioned her name.

“ _Oh, Ross, as if you don’t mention her pretty much every time we speak!_ ” she laughed. “ _You’re always talking about something she said, or telling me how the Trust couldn’t do without her._ ” Ross stared at the phone, silent and utterly glad that he’d decided to tell her over the phone, rather than face to face. He wouldn’t be able to disguise how surprised he was by her reaction. “ _And you’ve talked about her nephews, of course,_ ” Verity went on. “ _Her brother’s in the army, isn’t he?_ ”

“…Yeah,” said Ross slowly. He hadn’t realised he talked about Demelza at all, let alone so much that Verity could recall things about her circumstances at the drop of a hat. Did he really talk about Demelza that much? He talked about work a lot, of course, and Demelza was part of that, but surely he didn’t talk about Demelza every time he spoke to Verity. “Yeah, he’s an army paramedic…” A lie began spilling out, almost unbidden. He should have prepared some story beforehand, to tell her, but he hadn’t. Maybe it was better that way – it might sound more natural. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a short while – we’re keeping it quiet, because I’m still her boss, technically. I mean, the Trust employs each of us, but since I’m a trustee too, it’s a bit…we don’t want things to look bad, you know?”

“ _It’ll come out sooner or later,_ ” Verity warned him. “ _Especially if it’s serious enough to bring her to meet the family._ ” Ross made a sound that was carefully ambivalent. “ _Oh, Ross, I’m so happy for you,_ ” she said then. “ _I’m so looking forward to meeting her. I’ve been wanting to meet her for a while, you know – I was sure there was something going on, the way you talk about her, but I didn’t want to push. I know how…how hard this last year has been for you._ ”

“It has been,” Ross agreed. He didn’t have anything to add to that, but when Verity was silent, he felt compelled to say something more. “It’s been hard,” he said, “but it’s getting easier. Elizabeth’s happy, anyway, and that’s…” He cleared his throat and headed away from that dangerous path. “Demelza’s helped. As much as anyone has been able to help.”

“ _She sounds very special,_ ” said Verity softly. “ _Really, Ross, I’m so happy for you._ ” Her tone changed. “ _Listen, I only called to make sure you’re coming next week, so I’ll let you get on and have your supper now. I’ll let everyone know about Demelza. Make sure she knows we’ll all be really glad to see her. Give me a ring when you know what time you’ll arrive, okay?_ ”

“Sure,” said Ross. “Bye, Verity.” He reached out and ended the call, and then stared down at his supper and wondered what on earth he had said to Verity for her to sound so utterly thrilled at the idea of him going out with Demelza.

* * *

“So, um, this thing,” said Demelza, leaning against the doorframe and looking at Ross with a faintly worried expression. “Is it…a party dress type thing, or more casual, or…” She trailed off, leadingly. Ross, who had been thinking about something else entirely, stared blankly at her for a long moment. Then Demelza lifted an eyebrow, a silent question, and Ross shook himself back into the present.

“Dressed up casual, I’d say,” he offered. “We’re never that fancy. Jeans and a nice top, that’s all, usually.” She looked nervous, and he didn’t like seeing that, so he waved a hand and tried to come up with something more for her. “I got told off one year for wearing a t-shirt rather than a shirt, but really, jeans are fine, and then just…something nice. Nothing too fancy.” Demelza seemed marginally more comfortable at hearing that, and Ross made sure to offer her an encouraging smile. “They’re not ogres,” he said. “You’re not going off to face the etiquette police. Honestly, it’s just a family event.”

“Yeah,” Demelza murmured. She was twisting her fingers together, a sure sign that she was anxious. Then she stopped, almost self-consciously, and put her hands in the pockets of her oversized cardigan. “So, jeans and a nice top,” she parroted. “Okay. And you’ll pick me up at half five. You’re sure you don’t mind? I can meet you somewhere, if you’d rather.”

“I have a car, and you don’t,” Ross said patiently. He’d thought about that before offering to pick her up. Demelza got buses everywhere, or sometimes cycled, but the family party was well out of cycle range, and there wouldn’t be many buses on Christmas Eve – not that he would be willing to let her get the bus to Trenwith. The bus took a long, roundabout route through all the villages, and it would be a waste of time for her. Besides, everyone would expect them to arrive together. “It’s not that far out of my way,” he added, when Demelza didn’t look convinced. That was a lie – she lived in Truro, but he commuted in every day from Nampara, which was only a few miles down the road from Trenwith. It would be a forty-minute round trip for him. But Demelza didn’t know that, so he wouldn’t be caught out in the lie. “Besides, I figured I’d bring your sister-in-law a bottle of wine to say sorry for stealing you for the evening and leaving her alone with the boys.”

Demelza smiled at last, and shook her head. “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “She’ll manage just fine without me. She’ll stick them in front of the telly and then they’ll be in bed by half eight. They won’t want to risk Father Christmas not coming!”

“Fair enough,” Ross laughed. “Still, I know you help out a lot.” Demelza shrugged a shoulder, as if to say it was nothing, but Ross knew better. With her brother in the army, and therefore frequently away for months at a time, Demelza seemed invaluable to her sister-in-law. Ross hadn’t met her, but he’d met the two young boys on a couple of occasions, when childcare arrangements had fallen through and Demelza, utterly apologetic, had had to bring them into the office for a few hours. They’d been on their best behaviour – or tried to be – but it had been clear they were, as many young boys were, full of energy and boisterousness. Around and about the communal office they’d gone, playing hide-and-seek under desks, asking endless questions, and eventually ended up having races along the clear path from the kitchenette to Ross’s office. Demelza had kept apologising, completely needlessly, and at last Ross had corralled the boys into a corner, sat cross-legged on the floor next to them, and spent the next hour and a half watching cartoons with them on his laptop. He hadn’t minded; it had kept them still and relatively quiet, and had stopped Demelza apologising quite so much. Nice lads, but a handful for any one person on Christmas Eve. Ross would bring a bottle of wine for Demelza’s sister-in-law, no matter what Demelza said, and that was that.

“Do they know you’re showing up with a strange woman?”

Ross brought himself back to the present, and nodded a response to her question. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I told Verity I’m bringing you, so everyone’ll know.” There was a faint flush in Demelza’s cheeks, as if she was embarrassed, and Ross hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I said we’ve been going out for a while, but keeping it quiet, because of us both working here, and me being…” He trailed off, not wanting to say it. It seemed somehow wrong to actually put their relationship into plain English. Demelza was his employee, true, but she was more than that. The whole organisation would fall apart without her, in all honesty. And they were friends – good friends. They didn’t spend a huge amount of time together outside of work, but enough that she was definitely a friend as much as a work colleague. A solid, dependable support for him in all sorts of ways.

“My boss,” Demelza completed for him. To Ross’s relief, her embarrassment seemed to fade away, and though her cheeks were still a bit pink, she offered him a wry smile. “Ross, I think anyone who knows you at all would know you’d never taken advantage of anyone. And besides,” she added, “I hope you don’t think I’d be likely to be coerced into doing anything I don’t want to do!”

“God, no,” Ross said feelingly. Her smile turned into an infectious grin, and he had to grin back. This was why he wanted Demelza with him for this difficult family gathering: she made him smile, made him laugh, more than most people in his life. “Anyway, that’s what I said,” he added after a moment. “And Verity knows a bit about you anyway –,”

“She does?”

“Yeah, I, um…I’ve mentioned you a few times, I guess.” Ross cleared his throat and, to keep from having to make eye contact, he picked up his mug and checked to see if there was any coffee left. There wasn’t, but at least it had given him a few seconds to quash the niggling sensation of confusion that had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since Verity had unintentionally pointed out to him how much he talked about Demelza. It hadn’t been all-consuming; he’d come to work as normal, gone out at lunchtime for some last-minute Christmas gift-buying, sorted out a problem with the latest budget figures…but it was like something was tugging at his focus, throughout the two days since he’d spoken to Verity. Every time he’d glanced up from his computer to see Demelza in the main office, every time he’d heard her voice, he’d wondered what it was that he’d said, to make Verity guess so quickly who he’d meant when he’d talked about bringing a date to the party. He’d wondered how much he really did talk about her, or whether Verity was creating something out of nothing.

“So that’s easy, then,” Demelza said, breaking into his thoughts. “We met at work, I asked you out…what, a couple of months ago?”

Ross glanced back up at her, startled. “You asked me out?”

“Well, yeah.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, still smiling. “You couldn’t ask me out, that could be taking advantage. Right?” Ross nodded, but couldn’t quite manage to smile back at her. “I guess any other details, we can sort on the drive,” she went on. “I’d better get back to work – I want to get that last grant application off before the break. You want another coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ross murmured. Then he shook his head and stood up. “I mean, yeah, but you don’t have to make it for me.” He tried to smile. He was sure it must look forced, but it was the best he could do. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so awkward, but he just felt that Demelza shouldn’t always be the one running around making sure everyone was fed and watered. It wasn’t part of her job – everyone here was an adult, and fully capable of sorting themselves out – but she’d started doing it early on, and everyone took it for granted now, Ross included. “I can make my own coffee,” he added lamely. “You’re already doing me such a massive favour – more than a favour, really – so the least I can do is make my own coffee and let you get back to work.” An idea struck him, and his smile began to feel more genuine. “I’ll make _you_ a cuppa, though,” he said. “Bit of milk, bit of sugar, yeah?”

“Tiny bit,” she nodded. She was looking at him askance now, as if it wasn’t quite right that he should know how she took her tea – or perhaps just surprised that he’d remembered. “But you don’t have to,” she said, echoing his own words back at him. “You’re busy –,”

“Not that busy,” Ross overruled her, “and it’s the least I can do, given what you’re doing for me!” He came out from behind the desk. Demelza had taken her hands out of her pockets and was twisting her fingers together again, and the sight made him pause, and then made him frown. Maybe this was a bad idea. Well, of course it was a bad idea, but a worse idea than he’d thought. Demelza seemed so on edge this afternoon, and he didn’t like seeing it. He didn’t like to think she was anxious about coming with him to this wretched family party. “Look,” he said, “you don’t have to come. I know it’s a lot to ask. I’ll manage alright by myself.” He was a grown man, after all, and they were all family. It was the first Christmas with Elizabeth as part of the family, true – and a Poldark because she’d married Francis, not him – but the wound was healing. Ross would cope.

Demelza pushed herself away from the doorframe and straightened up. In flat shoes, she was almost his height, but she had a way of making herself look taller. Perhaps her slenderness gave the impression of it – or perhaps it was her long legs, or her trick of lifting her chin and narrowing her eyes.

“You wouldn’t have asked me to come if you didn’t want me there,” she pointed out. 

“Well, yes, but –,”

“And since you _did_ ask, and since Rosie’s already made sure she’s not working the Christmas Eve shift, _and_ you’ve already lied to your cousin Verity –,”

“Alright, alright,” Ross said quickly, not wanting her to labour that last point any longer than necessary. He hated lying to Verity, absolutely hated it – and Demelza was quite right, since he _had_ lied to Verity, he might as well go through with the whole thing. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I know I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Possibly not,” Demelza agreed. She lifted an eyebrow and smiled at him, suddenly seeming two inches shorter and not at all imposing. “But you did. And I agreed, didn’t I?” Ross nodded mutely. “I know you wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t need a friend there,” she added, softening still further. “So it’s fine. We’ll go. It’s just one evening. And afterwards you’ll tell them how it wasn’t really working as well as we thought, and it’s better just to stay friends.”

“Yeah,” Ross echoed. “Friends.” He managed a smile. “Thanks, Demelza. You’d better get back to that grant application. I’ll bring you a cup of tea in a few minutes.” She looked on the verge of protesting, but then seemed to change her mind. She shrugged, turned, and left his office. Ross looked down at his empty coffee cup and wondered what he’d let himself in for.

* * *

“Oh god, what have I let myself in for,” Demelza groaned. She was trying, vainly, to finish her make-up, while Rosie sat on the edge of the bath watching her and offering the occasional unhelpful comment. Downstairs the two boys were playing some sort of raucous game that seemed to involve running from one room to another and shouting about rockets. It was better not to inquire, Demelza had long since learned. And it wasn’t late enough that the noise would be a bother to the neighbours.

“Well, I did warn you,” said Rosie implacably. Demelza glanced up at her reflection in the mirror, and stuck out her tongue. Rosie shrugged. “Your decision, my lovely, so you’ve got nobody else to blame.” Demelza grimaced, but then shook it off and put the finishing touches to her lipstick. She looked okay, she decided. No more make-up than she’d wear on any other day. Her good jeans, the ones that fitted perfectly, and a nice top that she’d picked up a few months ago and not had a chance to wear before. Her hair she’d pulled away from her face and into a messy bun – not too formal, but not too casual, either. “You look good, Demelza,” Rosie said, in a gentler tone of voice. “Really nice. And look, like you keep saying, it’s just one evening. That’s all. It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Demelza murmured. “Yeah. It’ll be okay.” 

The doorbell rang. Two pairs of stomping feet raced through the downstairs of the house, and Demelza muttered a curse and flew from the bathroom. She heard the door open, and Ross greeting her two nephews, and then she clattered down the stairs, around the corner of the hall, and found Ross crouched on the doormat. The front door was still open behind him, but nobody seemed to care. Drake was explaining why his pyjama top was tied around his neck by the arms, instead of on him where it belonged, and Ross was listening very earnestly. In anyone else it might be a pretence, but Demelza knew better. Ross took children as seriously as he did adults.

“Hey, Ross,” she greeted. Ross grinned up at her, and then straightened, and tweaked Drake’s nose.

“Sounds like you’ve been having fun,” he said, “but you’ll get cold if you don’t put your top back on soon, and you don’t want to be ill on Christmas, do you?”

“I s’pose not,” Drake sighed, and he trudged into the sitting room, pulling the top from around his neck as he went. Ross grinned after him, and then turned that beaming smile back on Demelza.

“You ready to go?” he asked. “Oh, hi – Rosie, isn’t it?” Demelza moved out of the way so Rosie could shake Ross’s hand. He’d brought a bottle of wine, despite what she’d said about it not being necessary, and now he handed it over to Rosie with a shrug and a wave of his hand when she thanked him. “You’re welcome,” he said. “I imagine you’ll be wanting it before the evening’s over.”

“Quite possibly,” Rosie agreed dryly. She leaned back as Demelza reached past her for her coat and bag, and then she straightened again and gave Ross a narrow-eyed look. “You bring her back in one piece, alright?” She didn’t wait for an answer – which was just as well, because Ross looked rather startled – but turned to Demelza. “I won’t be asleep, unless you’re really late,” she said. “Call if you need me.”

She meant a lot more than she said, and Demelza knew it. “I will,” she promised. “Okay, Ross, I’m ready.”

In the car – a battered old Volvo that Demelza was sure had barely passed its MOT but which Ross always declared to be a good old thing – he gave her a blanket and a rueful expression.

“Heating’s out again,” he said. “Sorry.”

“There’s always something with this car,” Demelza said. She aimed for a good-natured tone, but she was sure her nerves were showing, because Ross glanced at her swiftly with an odd, inscrutable expression, before looking away and starting the car. “The blanket’s warm, though,” she offered. “And it’s not a long drive, is it?”

“Twenty minutes when the traffic’s good,” Ross agreed. “But it might be more like half an hour tonight – maybe longer. The weather’s not looking too good. Traffic’s probably hell.” Demelza nodded, and then she looked out of the window, watching the familiar streets under the glow of streetlamps as they drove away from the house and out towards the edge of town. Ross didn’t say anything for a while, so Demelza didn’t either. After a few minutes he put the radio on, the local station, full of advertising jingles and the Christmas charts. “Better keep an ear out for the traffic,” he muttered. Demelza hummed a response, and then decided she’d better make an effort.

“Yeah,” she said. “So tell me about this place – Trenwith House, you said?”

“Yup, that’s the one,” he said with a nod. “It’s been in the family for…oh, god knows how long. It used to have farmland attached to it – and a mine, a couple of hundred years ago, I think – but that all got sold off last century, between the two wars, so now it’s just the house.” Demelza raised an eyebrow, confident that it was dark enough, and he was busy enough, that he wouldn’t see. She’d known he came from a well-off background, but there was well-off and then there was old money. Houses didn’t stay in the same family for that long – several centuries, it sounded like – without there being serious money involved. Her twinge of inadequacy became more of a pang, sharp into her stomach. She could just imagine what it was like; big, old, and full of pieces of furniture that each cost more than the entire suite of furniture in her own sitting room. “Nampara’s the other one,” Ross went on, oblivious. “My home. Just three miles away, further out to the coast. Story goes there were a pair of brothers, back in the…eighteenth century, maybe? Anyway, the older one got Trenwith and the good mine, and the younger one got a scrappy bit of land on the coast that was barely farmable. We kept hold of our farm – sort of. It’s rented out to a couple who live nearby. I’ve just got the farmhouse and a bit of garden.”

“Oh, you liar!” Demelza exclaimed, turning back to him. “You said picking me up wasn’t out of your way!”

Ross’s teeth flashed white in the darkness when he grinned. “Yeah, I suppose I did,” he said cheerfully. “Oh well.” Demelza’s stomach seemed to somersault; how unfair, she lamented to herself, that he should grin like that, and sound so amused, and so make her forget about being irritated far quicker than she would like. 

“And you’ll be going out of your way later, driving me back,” she grumbled, tucking the blanket a little closer around herself. “Honestly, Ross.”

“Well, you could hardly get the bus back, later tonight,” he pointed out. “They’ll stop running in a couple of hours.”

Demelza refused to acknowledge he was right, petty though it made her. “Anyway, let’s get our story straight,” she said instead. “I asked you out first. For…drinks?” Ross grunted agreement. “There’s the pub down the road from work, on the corner,” she went on, “so we can just say we went there.”

“I’d like to think I’d take you somewhere nicer,” Ross grumbled. “Anyway, after that I did,” he said, almost triumphantly, before Demelza could answer. “I took you to that seafood place, because you love seafood.” She didn’t know how he knew that, but it was true. She clasped her hands together in her lap, hidden under the blanket. It wasn’t fair of him to know things like that. It unbalanced her in some indefinable way, to know that he was aware, however casually, of some of her tastes and preferences. “And the next date, you had to cancel because of Drake and Johnny needing babysitting, but you didn’t want me to join you, because it’d be too soon to introduce me as your boyfriend.”

“Sounds plausible,” she agreed. “And that was…what, a couple of months ago? That would’ve given you time to, um…” She didn’t want to say ‘get over’ Elizabeth, but nothing else sprang immediately to mind. “Um…”

“Say three months,” Ross said, either not hearing her hesitation or tactfully ignoring it. “That’s long enough for it to be serious enough to take you to meet my family.”

Once again Demelza was glad of the darkness. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “We’d better not get too specific on stuff, though. Nobody remembers all their dates. Well, I guess some people do, but not…not many.” She thought she would remember every date with Ross, if they ever had dates. Not this pretence, but actual, proper dates. A first date, a couple of pints with a match blaring loudly from the television at the other end of the pub. Cheers whenever anyone scored, Ross rolling his eyes whenever the noise meant they couldn’t hear each other. Not much more than their occasional after-work drinks, but still different, because it would be just them. Somewhere quieter next time, a restaurant just that little bit more upmarket than she was used to, but not so much that she was intimidated by any of it. The fluttering of her stomach as they talked, laughing together the way they always did, but with an extra edge, a thrill of anticipation at the way he sometimes looked at her…

Yes, Demelza would remember every single date, if it was her and Ross going out together, for real, not just a façade to get Ross through this first family party since his ex married his cousin. But since it was a façade, better not to have everything outlined in clear detail. Dates blurred together in people’s memory usually, places were mixed up, couples had contradictory ideas of what had happened and when. It would be more believable that way, and Demelza was determined to make it believable, so Ross could get through this evening without pity or snide comments or whatever it was that he was expecting. 

She’d make it believable for his sake. She would be a good friend to him tonight by making everybody believe she was really Ross’s girlfriend, and then tomorrow – and all the tomorrows after that – she would be a good friend and never let him see she wanted more.

* * *

“I’m so pleased you could make it,” gushed a woman who must be Verity Poldark, barely waiting for Demelza to step out of the car before greeting her. Once Demelza was standing, Verity stretched out her arms and offered Demelza a brief, but warm, embrace. “I was so happy when Ross said he was bringing you,” she went on. “Here, come inside, it’s too cold to be standing around here – Ross, she’s freezing, didn’t you have the heating on?”

“It’s broken,” Ross said, looking rather more sheepish than he had when he’d said so to Demelza, earlier. Verity rolled her eyes, and Demelza instinctively leaped to Ross’s defence.

“I had a blanket,” she said. “It wasn’t bad, really – it’s not a long drive.” 

“Hm,” said Verity, peering across the roof of the car towards Ross. “Well, come inside anyway. It’s bitter out here, and I think it’s going to snow.” She ushered Demelza ahead of her, across the gravel of the driveway towards the open front door, so quickly that Demelza barely had time to do more than glance back to make sure Ross was following them. He was, though more sedately, and he closed the door behind him, shutting out the cold and the snow that was indeed beginning to fall lightly. Now that they were inside, in a well-lit entrance hall, Demelza could get a proper look at Ross’s cousin. Diminutive, with a wide mouth and curly dark hair that seemed intent on escaping the plait it had been forced into, her smile and the shape of her face were enough like Ross’s that Demelza thought she could see the family resemblance. She seemed friendly enough, at any rate – and Ross had said, on the drive over, that Verity had been rather more on his side of things than her brother’s, inasmuch as she had taken sides over what had happened with Elizabeth. She was probably glad to see her cousin happy. It wouldn’t matter who Demelza was; any other woman would be as welcomed by Verity, as Ross’s girlfriend. Still, it was good to see a cheerful, welcoming face given how much Demelza was dreading meeting some of his other relatives.

“Here, let me take your coat,” Verity offered. “Just put your bag down there. It’s so nice to meet you finally, Demelza. Ross talks about you all the time.”

Demelza glanced sideways at Ross, who seemed to be terribly busy suddenly in putting his keys and wallet into his coat pockets. “Does he,” she said, aiming for dry but sounding, to her own ears, a little too surprised. “Don’t believe any of it.” Verity laughed, and Demelza summoned a wide smile of her own, so that Verity wouldn’t have any reason to think it was anything other than a gentle tease. 

“Good things,” Ross protested. “I say good things…right, Verity?” He crowded close behind Demelza and rested a hand on her hip, as casually as if he’d done it a thousand times before. She didn’t jump, but it was a close thing. His hand was warm, even through layers of clothes, despite how cold the car had been. Oh, this was not going to be easy. Not at all. “Is anyone else here yet?” Ross asked, but Verity shook her head.

“No, not yet. Francis and Elizabeth should be here soon, and Peter and Joan, and William’s coming but not the kids – Sarah has custody this Christmas. But Dad’s here, of course, and Aunt Agatha.”

“I did warn you about Aunt Agatha, didn’t I?” Ross asked Demelza, lowering his voice a little. With him standing so close, it felt oddly intimate. Not a whisper, but like he was sharing a confidence with her. Demelza ruthlessly suppressed a shiver.

“You did,” she confirmed. His great-aunt, he’d said: a bit hard of hearing, a wicked sense of humour, and a stubborn streak a mile wide. Reading between the lines, Demelza thought Ross’s great-aunt Agatha was probably rather like him. Certainly Ross had spoken of her fondly, but with a healthy amount of trepidation. He’d warned her to expect questions, possibly verging on rude, and told her to stand up for herself. Not that Demelza ever had any trouble doing that, but she’d appreciated Ross’s thoughtfulness in warning her.

“Don’t scare her,” Verity said, scolding him. But whatever Ross might have said in response was stifled by a voice calling his name from another room, beyond an open door. Ross exhaled a puff of air, almost against Demelza’s neck, and he bent a little closer.

“There she is,” he murmured. “Ready?” Footsteps – and the sound of a cane on a wooden floor – were approaching, and in a moment an elderly woman appeared in the doorway. Tall, slender to the point of skinny, cane in her hand and a large shawl draped over her shoulders, she looked as though she might blow away at any moment. But her eyes were sharp and her pleasure at seeing Ross was clear.

“Ross!” She tottered forwards and Ross left Demelza’s side to embrace his aunt, dwarfing her as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Ross! My favourite nephew. So you’ve come at last!” 

“I’m earlier than I said I would be, Auntie,” Ross said, but his protest was muffled by her shawl as he hugged her close. “And you saw me last week,” he added, when she let him go. “It’s not like it’s been months.” 

“Might as well be, with just Charles and Verity here to entertain me,” grumbled the old lady. “Nobody wants to come and see an old woman. No manners, any of them.” She resettled her shawl and sniffed. “Still, you’re here now, and that’s what counts. And who’s this?” She looked straight at Demelza, who felt rather like an animal caught in the fierce glare of headlights. Agatha and Ross shared eye colour and shape, and clearly Ross had learned his knack of staring right into a person from his great-aunt.

“This is Demelza, Auntie,” said Verity, with a tone in her voice of long-suffering patience. “I told you about her, remember? She’s Ross’s girlfriend.” Agatha made a dismissive sound, as if rejecting the notion that Very had said any such thing. Her eyes were sharp and alert; if there was anything wrong with her memory, Demelza had a suspicion that it was a selective forgetfulness, employed when she chose. She felt herself being assessed, being judged, and it made her lift her chin a bit, stand up that little bit straighter. She wasn’t good enough to be Ross’s girlfriend, and she knew it, but she’d be damned if she’d let anyone else judge her.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, and offered a hand. Agatha sniffed again, and ignored it, and Demelza slowly lowered her hand. Ross gave her an apologetic look, and she quirked an eyebrow slightly, but couldn’t do more, not with Agatha inspecting her so closely. “Thanks for having me,” she said to Agatha. “I hope you don’t mind me intruding on a family party.”

“What sort of a name is Demelza, then?” Agatha demanded.

“ _Auntie,_ ” hissed Verity. Ross rolled his eyes skywards, but he didn’t look surprised by Agatha’s bluntness. Demelza just shrugged her shoulders and offered a smile.

“Old Cornish, or so I’m told,” she said. “I’m named after my mum. My brothers all got normal names, but I got lumped with this. My dad always said he just blurted out the first name that popped into his head, when I got handed to him after I was born.”

“How like a man,” Agatha said. Her lips were twitching, as if she wanted to smile. A chink in the armour. Demelza chalked one up on her side of a mental tally. “So you’re dating my Ross, are you? Well, well. And you’ve come to face the lions, eh? Meet Elizabeth for yourself?”

“ _Auntie_ ,” Verity groaned, echoed barely a second later by Ross. Agatha just laughed, her sharp eyes still firmly fixed on Demelza, waiting for a response. Demelza shrugged again and told the truth – or something like the truth, anyway.

“It was this or staying in with my nephews,” she said. “Drake’s five and Johnny’s six. Trust me, Ross made this seem like the better offer.”

“Ha! A handful, are they? So was this one, when he was younger.” Agatha at last seemed to thaw a little. She jerked a head towards the open door behind her. “Come on, then. Come and have a drink. Verity! Mulled wine. For us both. And no arguing, mind.” She reached out and grasped Ross’s sleeve; he offered his arm at once, and the old lady leaned on him more than on her stick. “That dratted doctor says I shouldn’t drink on my new pills,” she said conspiratorially, “but what does he know, eh? I’m ninety-six, and if I want a glass or two at Christmas, no jumped-up GP is going to stop me.”

“Of course not, Auntie,” Ross soothed her. Then: “Demelza?”, with an outstretched hand. Demelza took it, let him twine his fingers with hers, and tried not to look as though this was the first time they had ever held hands.


	2. I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree

Ross really wished he wasn’t going to be driving again later. It wasn’t just that the mulled wine smelled oh-so-tempting, nor that his toes were still so cold that he longed for a hot coffee with a good slug of brandy in it. No, it was Agatha. His beloved great-aunt Agatha, who seemed to have thrown tact to the winds this evening in favour of bluntness. Not that she was ever particularly tactful, but now she was displaying more than usual awareness of how tricky this evening might be for Ross – and for Demelza, too – and, contrary to the last, she seemed determined to use every available opportunity to make sure everyone else knew how strained this party could become. Yes, Ross dearly wished he could have a drink this evening.

After her rude questioning in the entranceway, she had taken Ross – and therefore also Demelza – into the sitting room, where a fire roared in the hearth and a table was set out with drinks and snacks. Ross had hoped that she would be distracted by mulled wine and mince pies, but it was a vain hope. Agatha had parked herself in her favourite armchair, directed Demelza to the sofa with a pointing of her stick, and now seemed to be in the process of trying to glean every single detail of Demelza’s entire life and history.

Not that Demelza herself seemed particularly bothered by this. A mug of mulled wine in one hand, one leg casually crossed over the other, elbow on the arm of the sofa and her chin in her other hand, she looked perfectly at ease and didn’t seem to mind Agatha’s interrogation.

“You warned Demelza, you said?” Verity queried in a murmur, leaning close to him as she gave him a cup of coffee, sadly sans brandy. “I’m so sorry. She really _shouldn’t_ be drinking with her pills…”

“It won’t do any harm, this once,” Ross shrugged. “Demelza’s tough. She can handle it.” Or so he hoped. He’d seen her face down trustees and trouble teens alike, but there was nobody in the world quite like Agatha. “So everyone else should be here soon? Supper’s at seven, right?” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, steadily ticking away the seconds. It was only about five past six. They’d barely been here ten minutes, but he was already feeling on edge. 

“Nervous?”

“I…didn’t say that,” Ross said evasively. Verity raised her eyebrows at him, but said nothing. Ross sipped his coffee and tried not to scowl. She knew him too well, that was the problem. Of course he was nervous. Bloody nervous, and not just because it would be the first time he’d seen Elizabeth since the wedding. There was Francis, too, with whom Ross had had a strained relationship ever since…well, ever since everything had happened. And the other cousins, Peter and William, both of whom were decent men but who, of course, knew all about it. None of them would say anything, not without provocation, but Agatha seemed determined to be provoking enough for all five of his generation of Poldarks. It could end up not only an awkward evening, but potentially an acrimonious one.

He was nervous for Demelza, too. He wanted her to like his family – or at least those of his family that he liked – and he wanted them to like her. He didn’t know why he wanted that, but he did. And after all, if she didn’t like them, it was going to be an awful evening for her. 

“You seem much too nice to be going out with that rascal,” Agatha was saying, sounding far too amused for Ross’s good. “Much too nice. How’d he catch you, eh?”

“Ross is one of the best men I know,” Demelza said, glancing over at him. She looked, and sounded, utterly sincere, and as Ross met her gaze, a faint blush rose in her cheeks. Then she laughed a little, shaking her head as if to shake off her sincerity, and she looked back at Agatha. “Besides, I’m the one asked him out, not the other way around.”

That set the cat among the pigeons. Agatha roared with laughter and slapped her thigh, while Verity gave an exclamation of pleased surprise so loud that it made Ross wince away from her. He grumbled a complaint, but Verity either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. Agatha certainly didn’t care, cackling away like an old witch, the mulled wine, her medication and her own twisted sense of humour all combining to make her look ever-so-slightly terrifying to those who didn’t know her. Demelza cast Ross a glance that spoke louder than words could; he took a final gulp of coffee and then went to join her on the sofa.

“We work together, Auntie,” he said as he settled down beside Demelza. The sofa was a small two-seater, and rather old, so the cushions sloped down and he ended up almost pressed up against Demelza’s side. She reached forward and put her mulled wine down on the low table in front of the sofa, and then she casually put her hand on Ross’s knee. Ross did his best not to startle, not to show any surprise, but he was sure he only evaded notice because neither Agatha nor Verity were looking out for any odd behaviour. It felt so _strange_ having Demelza’s hand resting on his knee, warm through his jeans, her thumb rubbing idly back and forth. Strange, and yet…not unwelcome.

And after all, it was no different to what he’d done in the entrance hall, when he’d touched her hip. She hadn’t jumped then, hadn’t given him a sideways look the way Ross couldn’t help doing now. He certainly couldn’t fault her for how smoothly, how genuinely, she was acting. She really was the best of friends, doing this for him. So far she was taking it all in her stride, and acting her part beautifully. It seemed she was absolutely determined to convince everyone that she and Ross were indeed a couple, and was doing so in such a graceful, understated way. He would more than owe her one, after this. This was beyond a favour. 

“It wouldn’t have been appropriate for me to ask her out,” he added. Demelza smiled at him, warmth reaching right up into her eyes, which twinkled merrily. Perhaps she was thinking about their conversation the other day in the office, when they’d made up the story, and he’d been startled at the idea of her asking him out. It made him smile back at her. Tension in his stomach eased, a tension he hadn’t quite realised was there. 

“Hm! Well, well, maybe not,” Agatha said, still chortling. “So you’re a girl who goes after what she wants, eh? That’s good. We women need to be like that. Take Verity, here.”

“Auntie…”

“Gives up what she wants to take care of my nephew, and he’ll never give her a word of thanks for it,” Agatha continued, ignoring her great-niece. Verity shot Ross an unhappy look, a silent plea for assistance or distraction, but it was Demelza who provided it.

“Is he here?” she asked. “Your nephew – Ross’s uncle. I thought you said he would be, Ross.”

“He’s upstairs,” Verity said quickly. “I’ll go and see what’s keeping him.” She turned and fled the room – wisely, in Ross’s view, because Agatha could be like a dog with a bone when she wanted, and her disapproval of Verity’s selflessness was a bone she gnawed at with great pleasure. Agatha sniffed and watched her go, and then peered into her mug of wine. 

“She’s stinting me,” she grumbled. “Half measures at Christmas. What’s the world coming to?”

“Wrack and ruin,” Demelza murmured, too low for Agatha to hear. Ross huffed a laugh, and caught her eye again. He mouthed a thank you, and she lifted an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder. “So tell me again who’s coming,” she said, at a normal volume. “Two other cousins, you said?”

“Peter and his wife Joan – he’s a bit more distant, but his mother and Verity’s mother were close, so he sort of gets lumped in with us,” Ross said, quick to jump on the change of subject. “And William, his mother was my aunt. He’s divorced, so just him.”

“Peter, Joan, William,” Demelza repeated, as if fixing the names in her memory. “Okay. And your uncle is Charles.” 

“By the time everyone’s had a drink, nobody will care if you forget their names,” Ross said dryly. “William’s staying over, isn’t he, Auntie?” He normally did, on years when he didn’t have the children. It kept him from being alone at Christmas, and he was always good company. “What about Peter and Joan?”

“Yes, yes, they’re staying tonight,” nodded Agatha. “Mind, it’ll be the last Christmas they do, I’ll wager.” She tapped the side of her nose, and Ross raised his eyebrows at her. Was Joan pregnant, then? Perhaps Agatha knew something he didn’t. Well, he’d soon see – if Joan didn’t drink, it would be proof enough. “And Francis and Elizabeth, of course,” Agatha added, a hint of glee in her voice. “They may stay, if they’re too tired to go home, though they live close enough. You’ve not seen either of them since the wedding, have you, Ross?”

“No,” Ross said, trying not to bite off the words. “No, I haven’t.” 

“Ha! Thought not.”

The glee was more than a hint, now. You could always depend on Agatha to enjoy the prospect of other people’s discomfort. Ross wished, once again, for a glass of something to dull his irritation. Then Demelza’s fingers fluttered against his knee, and she leaned into him. It was slightly awkward until he put his arm around her, and then it was just…comfortable. Oddly comfortable. He hadn’t held anyone like this for over a year, and he’d forgotten how much he liked it – just the closeness, the companionship of it. Somebody curled up against him, warm and solid and sharing her presence with him. His hand moulded around the curve of her shoulder as he bent his head towards her, to listen to whatever she had to say.

“It’ll be okay,” she murmured into his ear. Her breath smelled faintly of the mulled wine she’d been drinking. “It’ll be okay. You’re not facing this alone.” Ross couldn’t speak. He inhaled, and nodded, and squeezed her shoulder a little in gratitude. He wasn’t alone, thanks to her. How he would ever repay her for this, he didn’t know.

* * *

“I’m sorry you can’t have any of this,” Demelza said, refreshing her cup of mulled wine and giving Agatha another half a cup. Agatha grumbled audibly, but she was more complaining in general than complaining at Demelza, so Ross didn’t bother apologise for her. “It’s good,” Demelza added. “Did Verity make it from scratch?”

“I think so. She usually does.” When Demelza came back to the sofa, she fitted naturally under his arm again. “I’ll maybe have a glass with supper,” Ross allowed. “But I don’t mind. It’s more important that you’re home for the morning.” Demelza began to respond, but fell quiet when they heard, from somewhere above them, a loud thump. Then Ross recognised a distinctive tread across the upstairs landing. “My uncle,” he explained to Demelza, who seemed unperturbed by the noise. He supposed she wouldn’t be, living with two young boys. “He’s –,”

“Damn it all, why didn’t you tell me people were arriving?” came Charles’ deep bellow. More noise, as Charles reached the stairs and began to descend. “I don’t care if it is just Ross,” Charles shouted, clearly in response to something Verity had said. “This is my house, and while it’s still my house I’m still the host!” Stomp, stomp, stomp down the stairs. A few moments later, Charles appeared in the doorway. Red-faced, cardigan buttoned over his ample stomach, he was nevertheless an imposing figure. Demelza was already standing; Ross rose to join her, and touched her elbow briefly, trying to reassure her. Charles was all bark and no bite. “Well, there you are, boy!”

“Uncle.” Ross shook Charles’ hand. “You’re well?” 

“Well enough to enjoy Christmas, no matter what Verity tells you,” said Charles, voice a little less booming now but the force of his personality no less evident. There was a spark of interest in his eyes as he looked at Demelza, and Ross hastened to introductions. Charles was less likely to be tactless than Agatha – far less likely – but still, on occasion Charles could be far worse than his aunt. No sense in giving him a chance to begin with some comment about Demelza being a replacement or Ross finally being over Elizabeth, or anything like that. 

“This is Demelza,” he said. He mentally stumbled at the word ‘girlfriend’. Somehow it didn’t feel right to use it, for Demelza. Not out loud. It didn’t _fit_ her. If he and Demelza were really going out, they would be…together. Partners, perhaps. Significant others. Girlfriend felt too diminutive for the strong woman standing next to him, doing her best to support him through this wretched family party. “We’ve been dating for a few months,” he said lamely, hoping his pause hadn’t been too noticeable. “We work together – at the Trust.”

“Yes, yes, Verity said.” Charles shook Demelza’s hand, and then startled her by drawing her in closer to kiss her cheek. Ross rolled his eyes skyward for a moment. If he believed in a God, he’d be praying for patience. If his whole family had decided to set out to make Demelza uncomfortable, they were certainly doing a good job so far. “Well, always nice to have fresh blood,” Charles chortled. “What with you, and Elizabeth, we’ll be quite a different group this Christmas, eh, Ross?”

“Quite,” Ross muttered. 

“Come and tell me all about yourself,” Charles said to Demelza, ignoring Ross. “You’ve got wine?” He stomped over to the table with the mulled wine, ladled himself out a mugful, and then sniffed in much the same way that Agatha did. “Where’s that girl – Verity! Verity, the mulled wine’s getting cold!” Without waiting for a response he took himself over to his favourite chair, by the fire, and settled down into it with a groan. He was, Ross was pleased to see, losing a little of his weight at last. Thanks to Verity’s efforts, no doubt; she was determined he wouldn’t have another heart attack. “Well, come along, come along,” Charles said to Demelza, the brusqueness of his tone belied by the very genuine smile on his face. “Come and tell me what that nephew of mine gets up to when we’re not looking, eh?”

Demelza went, obedient but with a wide-eyed glance sent over her shoulder at Ross, who could only shrug helplessly and mouth an apology. Then Verity touched his elbow and murmured a request for help in the kitchen with the mulled wine. He hesitated, watched as Demelza reclaimed her seat on the sofa, and then nodded at his cousin. Demelza had handled Agatha; she could surely handle Charles. He gestured for Verity to precede him, and followed her out of the sitting room, across the entranceway, and down the dark hall that lead to the kitchen. 

“I never pictured her as a redhead, somehow,” Verity said, once they were far enough away to be out of earshot of those still in the sitting room. “You’ve usually gone for brunettes, before…” She began moving around, pouring a fresh batch of mulled wine into a jug and then adding more wine and spices into the big, heavy saucepan on the hob where a gentle heat kept it just below simmering. “But she’s very pretty,” Verity went on. “And she – _no_ , Ross, leave that alone!”

Ross shut the oven door guiltily. “I just wanted to see what it was,” he claimed. “It smells great.” Beef Wellington; his favourite. Verity had chosen that deliberately, he knew. Then her comment registered with him. “Is she pretty? I never really thought about it.”

Verity stopped stirring the saucepan for a moment and glanced up at him, eyebrows arched. “You’ve never thought about it,” she echoed. “ _Really_ , Ross. I wasn’t born yesterday. You _know_ she’s pretty.”

“I really haven’t thought about it,” Ross shrugged. It was the truth, plain and simple, though it was clear Verity didn’t believe him. A lie might have been better – an agreement with Verity’s assessment, or even further, a claim that Demelza was gorgeous, or stunning…but Ross really hadn’t ever thought about it. She was just Demelza. Strong, capable, friendly, cheerful…the mainstay of the office and of the Trust. He supposed he was aware that, objectively speaking, Demelza was pretty. Tall and slender, with clear skin and that mass of red hair, often tied back in a plait…yes, Ross must have been aware that she was pretty. The same way that he was aware of the relative attractiveness of all his friends and acquaintances – in a very subconscious way that noticed a fact and then discarded it as irrelevant. Demelza was Demelza; her appearance was had little to do with that. 

But…yes, she was pretty. Very pretty, as Verity said. Ross would even go so far, now that he thought about it, as to call her beautiful. Those eyes, and that smile…yes, Demelza was beautiful. Something about the acknowledgement unsettled him, but he wasn’t one to shy away from a truth.

“She is,” he said aloud. “I just never thought about it. She’s…she’s Demelza.” Verity kept watching him for a moment, and then she seemed to come to some conclusion, and looked back at her mulled wine. Ross felt unaccountably as if she had judged him in some way, and the feeling nettled him. “D’you really need any help in here?” he asked abruptly. “I should get back to Demelza, if you don’t – it’s not fair leaving her with those two, not with the mood Agatha’s in.” Especially since Demelza was only pretending to be his girlfriend. Bad enough to leave her to face an inquisition even if they really were dating – at least then she wouldn’t be sitting through it for nothing – but even worse to leave her to it under the circumstances.

“I don’t need help with the food – not from _you_ , thank you very much!” she laughed. “Take the wine through – and send Francis here, when he comes, will you?” Ross made a face at her out of habit, but accepted that he wasn’t the best person to make sure a full and edible meal made it to the table. Francis had been taught to cook alongside Verity, by their mother. He would happily enough come in to help Verity finish off the meal, even with the distraction of Ross’s new girlfriend in the parlour. 

“Will do,” he promised. He took up the full jug of mulled wine and retreated out of the kitchen before she could change her mind and commandeer him for some task. 

Demelza gave him another wide-eyed look when he returned to the sitting room, and held her hand out for him as if to hurry him closer. Charles and Agatha were both laughing, and Ross rather suspected the latter was the one who had finished off the first batch of mulled wine – the bowl was empty of everything except a cinnamon stick and a couple of slices of orange. He set the jug down beside it, and then joined Demelza on the sofa.

“Surviving?” he murmured, putting his arm around her shoulders again. He did it automatically, as if he was used to doing it, and Demelza leaned into him like she did it all the time. For a moment Ross was struck by the strange image of Demelza in his own home, in Nampara, curled up on the couch next to him, or perhaps stretched out with her legs hooked over the arm and her head in his lap so he could tangle his fingers in her hair. It bemused him. He’d never thought about Demelza like that, before, but it was a comfortable sort of image, with a strange sort of appeal. Where, he wondered, had the idea come from? Probably just from the pretence, he decided. 

“They’re not so bad,” Demelza murmured back, effectively dispelling the image from Ross’s mind. 

“ – and they never did find that wretched thing!” Agatha crowed, as Charles’s laughter grew ever-louder. 

“Mind, there’s only the two of them so far,” Demelza added, smiling at him, her eyes twinkling merrily. It was an infectious expression, and Ross found himself smiling back, and leaning a little closer, so his head was almost brushing against hers. It would be the right time to kiss her, he realised suddenly. If they were truly together, this would be the moment where he would turn his head and brush his mouth against hers. 

The doorbell rang, and Ross twitched away from Demelza. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said wryly. Then the front door opened, proving the ring of the bell a mere courtesy, and he knew at once who had arrived. Only Francis ever bothered to ring the bell before entering the house. Francis…and with him would be Elizabeth.

* * *

Seeing Elizabeth Poldark was everything Demelza had feared it would be.

For so long, Elizabeth had loomed in the back of her mind, a perfect portrait of Ross’s ideal woman, built up of scraps of information. She’d seen pictures, heard others in the office talking about her, and of course there was Ross, who in the early days of Demelza’s employment at the Trust had been full of happy love and therefore let slip much information about the woman he loved. Demelza had felt herself prepared to face the creature she had imagined, and equally prepared to find her something else entirely. 

Elizabeth was as beautiful as ever, of course. Demelza hadn’t seen her in over a year, but time hadn’t dimmed the memory of that patrician beauty and the way she moved with such grace. Marriage seemed to suit Elizabeth, too – she still had the air of someone newly in love, looking at Francis often and reaching out to touch him. Francis was the same; his world clearly revolved around the sun that was Elizabeth. 

Just as Ross’s had once. 

She glanced at Ross, to see how he was coping. Francis and Elizabeth had barely set foot into the room, and were still exchanging greetings with Charles and Agatha, but already Demelza could see that Ross’s jaw was clenched, his face a shade paler than it had been even twenty minutes before. He hadn’t stood up when his cousin and his former lover had come in, so Demelza didn’t, either. Instead she reached for his hand and tangled their fingers together. It didn’t matter whether _she_ was uncomfortable, she told herself. She was here to support Ross. Her own ambivalent feelings towards Elizabeth didn’t matter. 

“Ross! I – wasn’t sure you were going to come.” It was Francis who approached them first. He was shorter than Ross, and stockier, but with the same curly hair that seemed a trait of the Poldarks. His expression was open and friendly. “It’s good to see you, cousin.” He held out a hand for Ross to shake and, after a moment, Ross did so.

“Francis,” he said. To Demelza, who had spent two years learning him, he sounded flat and reserved. Francis clearly heard it too – he hesitated – but then Ross summoned a smile, and Francis relaxed again. “This is Demelza,” Ross introduced. “Did Verity –,”

“Yes, yes, she told us all about Demelza,” Francis agreed. “I’m so glad you could come.” Demelza leaned forward to shake his hand, and then retreated back into the warmth of Ross’s arm around her shoulders. She couldn’t see any sign, in this man, of somebody who would treat his cousin the way she knew he had. But love made people do strange things, she supposed. “This is my wife, Elizabeth,” he went on, reaching out for Elizabeth, who had hung back a few steps, as if unsure of her welcome. Now she came forward, her smile much more hesitant than her husband’s.

“I’m so pleased to meet you,” she offered. Ross’s hand twitched slightly in Demelza’s, but she couldn’t spare him a glance now. Elizabeth was looking down at her with that uncertain smile, but her eyes were assessing. Not cold, but watchful. She was judging Demelza – taking her in and making some decision about her. Agatha had done the same thing earlier, and now Demelza felt the same instinctive response. She lifted her chin and reminded herself that nobody had the right to judge her – least of all Elizabeth, who had broken Ross’s heart so badly.

“We’ve actually met,” she said. “Last year, at the Trust.” 

“Really? When was that?” Ross asked, turning his head towards her. “I don’t remember introducing you.”

“Oh, some time in the summer, I think,” Demelza said vaguely. Elizabeth was looking, pleasingly, a little embarrassed that she hadn’t remembered. It was petty, though, to have brought that up. She was better than that. She wouldn’t let Elizabeth think she was _that_ kind of woman, looking to score points against the ex-girlfriend. It wouldn’t do Ross any good and, after all, it wasn’t like this was real. The only thing that mattered was making Elizabeth, and everyone else, believe that Ross had moved on. And if they knew Ross at all, they’d know he would never be with someone capable of being catty like that. She forced a smile and added: “But it was a while ago, and it was only briefly. I was rushing off home.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth murmured. “Yes, I – I think I remember.” She said nothing to Ross, just gave him a furtive look, which he seemed not to notice.

“Verity wants you in the kitchen,” Ross said instead, to Francis. “More mulled wine, everyone? Auntie?”

That broke the silence that had crept around the room while Demelza had been introduced, and Charles and Agatha both demanded more wine, which Ross rose to provide for them. Elizabeth sank into a chair a little way apart from the sofa, and took a cup of mulled wine when Ross brought it to her. He flashed a brief smile, tight and impersonal, and then came back to Demelza. Agatha and Charles resumed their previous conversation as Francis slipped from the room, which left Demelza, Ross and Elizabeth to themselves. Holding firm to her resolution to be pleasant, Demelza made an effort.

“This mulled wine is good,” she said, smiling at Elizabeth as naturally as she could manage. “I’m looking forward to dinner. Ross says Verity’s a brilliant cook.”

“She is,” Elizabeth agreed. “She and Francis both are – their mother made sure of it.”

“Unlike me,” Ross added. He’d clearly come to the same decision as Demelza – that he needed to be friendlier. Sensible of him. Nobody would believe he’d moved on from Elizabeth if he couldn’t speak to her normally. “I know how, but I’m terrible in the kitchen. All fingers and thumbs.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you’ve never invited me round,” Demelza said, aiming for a teasing note. “The truth comes out.” She couldn’t picture his house, especially now she knew how old it was. But she could imagine him in her own kitchen. Sitting at the table with a glass of wine, chatting with her while she cooked. He would listen to Rosie talking about work, and then he’d get distracted by the boys and end up being dragged into playing a video game with them. She could picture it more vividly than she was comfortable with, and she lifted her mug to help conceal any trace of it that might be showing on her face. This was her third cup of mulled wine, so she sipped slowly, determined to make it last until dinner. The last thing she needed was to get tipsy and let anything slip.

“It’s a long trek for you, on a bus,” Ross protested, taking her lead and building up their fake relationship. “Demelza lives in Truro,” he added, for Elizabeth. “And doesn’t drive.” 

“Oh, I see,” said Elizabeth. She smiled, and it had the unfortunate effect of making her demonstrably more beautiful. Demelza felt green. She ruthlessly reminded herself that she had no right. “Yes, it would be quite a distance by bus. Ross brought you tonight, I suppose?” Demelza nodded. “I hope the weather’s alright for you to get back later – the snow was picking up when we arrived, and I know what Ross’s car is like.”

“Is it?” Alarmed, Demelza looked at Ross, who didn’t seem concerned. “You know I’ve got to be there for the boys,” she reminded him. “Rosie’ll never forgive me, otherwise. And your car –,”

“I’ll borrow Francis’s Land Rover if I have to,” Ross assured her. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Easy for him to say – he wasn’t the one who’d be abandoning Rosie to Christmas morning without help. Still, there was nothing she could do about it, and anyway, snow never settled in Cornwall this early in the winter. 

“What’s that?” Charles leaned forwards in his chair, his conversation with Agatha at an end for the moment. “Francis’s Land Rover? What’s wrong with that wretched car now, Ross?”

“Nothing, Uncle, but Demelza’s worried about getting back, if the snow gets worse.”

“Ah, we’ll get you home safe and sound,” Charles chuckled. “Never fear, my dear. And if worst comes to worst, there’s always a bed ready for Ross upstairs. A nice big double – plenty of space for you both.” He laughed at his own bawdy sense of humour. Demelza felt herself flush. She liked Charles so far – he was brash and boisterous, but not obnoxiously so. She could see that his manner would get a little wearying after a while, and she suspected, from what Ross had said, that Verity took the worst of it. But when set against Agatha, Charles seemed pretty well matched. There was a lot of good-natured teasing between them, and so far neither of them had given any ground to the other. 

Yes, she liked him – but being the object of his teasing was another matter. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she said. “It can’t be snowing that badly.”

Just then the doorbell rang, and Ross took his arm from over Demelza’s shoulders and heaved himself to his feet. “I’ll check while I’m getting this,” he told her. “But seriously, don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

“Last time you said that to me, we both ended up working until midnight getting the fundraiser paperwork in order,” she reminded him. Ross paused, giving her a wounded look, and Demelza had to smile. It was true, though. A whole load of last-minute paperwork had come in that had to be completed by a deadline, and only Ross and Demelza between them had had the experience and expertise to get it all done properly. Ross had promised her it would all be fine – and had the grace to apologise when it had turned out to be more work than he expected – but Demelza had learned his optimism sometimes had to be taken with a pinch of salt. 

“Trust me,” Ross instructed her. Then, as naturally as if he’d done it dozens of times before, he leaned down to her, put two fingers beneath her chin to lift her face, and pressed a kiss to her mouth. Demelza was too startled to respond, but it was only a brief kiss, a chaste brush of his lips against hers. It was over in a moment, leaving her lips tingling a little. “It’ll be fine,” he added. The doorbell rang again, and he rolled his eyes. “That’ll be William,” he predicted. “He’s never keen on hanging around at the door.”

* * *

“Get a grip,” Demelza ordered herself, staring at the mirror over the sink as if her reflection could somehow give her strength. 

It wasn’t even like it had been a proper kiss. Just a peck. There was absolutely no reason why her stomach should be a mass of butterflies even now, ten minutes later. No reason at all. It had been a brief peck, nothing romantic about it. A casual kiss that had lasted barely a second and had been entirely for the sake of showing Ross’s family that he was happy, and no longer hung up on Elizabeth.

“Argh,” she moaned. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Rosie would be laughing herself sick if she was here. She really was a bloody idiot. As if it hadn’t been bad enough, with the hand-holding and the arm around her shoulder and the casual touches to her hip or knee. Ross was coming along swimmingly, given the slight hesitancy she’d seen in him when they’d first arrived. He really was acting as if they were together. And Demelza was doing her best to follow along, and to respond in kind, but it was so much harder than she’d anticipated.

She’d known they would likely have to kiss, but she hadn’t expected…

She hadn’t expected how warm his lips would be, and how the closeness would make the scene of his cologne linger in her nostrils. She was probably imagining it, but she was sure she could still smell it. She was being ridiculous, and she knew it, but oh, it was too much. It was just too much. She’d experienced this fake relationship for less than an hour, but she already knew that losing it – losing these small attentions, the touches and affection and the smiles directed at her and her alone – was going to be impossibly hard.

Not that she would ever, ever let on about that. Not to anyone. Not even Rosie. Oh yes, Demelza was determined that Rosie would never find out just how much of an idiot she was, and just how painful this fake date was for her.

In fairness, the evening was so far proving a success. Agatha and Charles were both welcoming, if a little pointed in their comments. Verity was a sweetheart, and though she’d barely spoken to Francis, Demelza thought she would probably like him, too. Ross was as comfortable as anyone could expect him to be, in the circumstances, and Elizabeth was certainly making herself as inoffensive as possible – friendly, charming, but so far being careful to avoid saying or doing anything that might cause an upset. Fingers crossed it lasted the whole evening, though Demelza had a feeling Agatha and Charles might decide to poke the wasp’s nest at some point. Especially if the wine kept flowing.

She’d been in here too long. She’d met Ross’s cousin William, exchanged pleasantries, and then asked Verity to direct her towards the loo, desperate for a few short minutes to herself to regroup. Now it was time to face the music again.

Ross was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, looking a little anxious. “Hey,” he greeted. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Demelza said breezily. Above all, he mustn’t find out how flustered she was feeling. She’d kept her feelings from him for this long; one evening couldn’t be allowed to wreck that, no matter what. “And you? Things going okay so far?”

He shrugged and gave an expressive grimace. “Agatha shouldn’t be drinking,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the sitting room. Charles’s loud voice was audible, though she couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Verity was right. And my uncle…well, we’ll see. But it’s better for having you here.” 

“Good,” she smiled. That made it all worth it. And supper would be easier, she was sure. There would be so many people, and all sitting at a dining table, so there would be less touching. Less need to be demonstrative. “Let me just check my phone, then I’ll come back in.” She wasn’t expecting any messages, but it was habit to check for an SOS from Rosie. Her bag was on a table in the entrance hall, where Verity had told her to leave it, and Ross followed her over, slouching against the table as she found her phone and read the message Rosie had sent her. ‘ _Coping?_ ’ her sister-in-law had sent. Demelza grimaced. 

“Trouble?” Ross inquired. She shook her head and typed a quick reply: ‘So far so good’. Somebody in the sitting room switched on some Christmas carols, and there was a roar of laughter in response to something somebody said. She put her phone back in her bag and glanced sidelong at Ross, who didn’t look particularly keen to return to his family. She cast about for something to say. The entrance hall was only dimly lit, but the walls were practically covered in photographs, and one caught her eye. She nodded towards it.

“Is that you?” she asked. He turned to look, and then nodded, smiling that irresistible smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s me. And Francis and Verity.” He pushed off the table and went to peer at the photograph. Demelza went with him, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep from fidgeting. And to keep from reaching out to him; it would be far too easy to let touching him become a habit. The Ross in the photograph was smiling as widely as the Ross standing next to her, but the smile was marred by a missing tooth. He must have been six or seven in the photograph, and his cousins a year younger and older respectively. “And here, look – my father, and Charles. And my aunt Sarah.” He pointed at another photograph, this one a more formal, portrait-style one. “My grandmother used to make them get a picture taken every year,” he remembered. “The three of them together, and then Dad with my Mum, and Charles with my aunt, and aunt Sarah with her husband – William’s parents, that is. Us kids too, but once Gran died, nobody really kept it up.”

“It must be nice, though,” she said, peering at Ross’s father and seeing the resemblance. “Having pictures like that. Like a record of your family.” It was more than she had of her family. There was a single photo album with pictures of her mother, and a few more of her father, but the previous generation of Carnes had never bothered much with photographs, and certainly not with keeping hold of them and passing them on to the younger ones.

“I suppose so.” Ross agreed. “Aunt Sarah died when we were all just kids, and then her husband when William was only twenty. And of course my parents died nearly five years ago.” He shook his head, mouth twisted in a rueful expression. “Can’t believe it’s been that long, sometimes.” From the sitting room came another peal of laughter. “We should get back in,” he said. He still didn’t look enthusiastic and, without thinking about it, Demelza pulled her hand out of her pocket and touched his forearm.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said softly. “The worst part’s over.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” She was firm on that point. “It’s the first time you’ve seen her since the wedding, isn’t it?” He shot her a sharp look, all forbidding ferocity, but Demelza had faced that look before, and wouldn’t let it deter her now. They’d been dancing around the subject ever since Ross had asked her to be his date for the evening, but they both knew the truth. She wasn’t just there to stop everyone – how had he put it? Walking on eggshells around him. She wasn’t just there to help with that. She was there to prove to everyone that he was over Elizabeth, even though it was obvious that he wasn’t. Or not entirely, anyway. “The first time’s always the worst. Now the ice is broken, everything else will be uphill.”

Ross was silent for a moment, and then his glare faded away. “I’m not still in love with her,” he said, with an earnestness that suggested he believed what he said. Demelza said nothing, and stifled the instinct to even _look_ sceptical, but apparently Ross knew her too well, because he insisted: “I’m not. Honestly. I wish it hadn’t all happened the way it did, but it’s over. Over and done with.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not hard seeing her, though,” she pointed out. “She hurt you a lot.” 

“Well, I have you to patch me up, don’t I?” he said, with another of those winning smiles. Her stomach fluttered, and she felt as if her heart skipped a beat. Oh, those smiles. To have those smiles directed at her, to feel like she was important to him for just one evening…it was a gift more precious than Demelza could ever have hoped for, and at the same time an agony that she was certain would live with her forever. He was standing so close to her now, their shoulders almost brushing, and he was looking at her with such singular focus. As if she was the only person who mattered to him. She imagined what might happen if they really were in a relationship, how he might take the opportunity to kiss her. She almost – _almost_ – swayed towards him in expectation. 

“Ross!” It was Verity, come in search of her wayward cousin. Demelza took her hand from Ross’s arm and summoned a bright, cheerful smile. “Ross, Agatha wants you. Demelza, how are you doing? We’re not frightening you off yet?”

“Not at all,” Demelza said. “We were just coming back in.”

* * *

With Ross’s cousin William there, and Verity back in the sitting room for a while, Demelza felt as though the spotlight had moved away from her at last. Elizabeth and Verity were chatting together, Charles had commandeered his two nephews to give an account of their recent doings, and Francis – possibly by default – had been snagged by Agatha. Feeling them to be probably the least of all evils, Demelza joined them. Agatha was an interesting woman, when she wasn’t needling Ross about his love life, and although Demelza was predisposed to dislike Francis on principle, he was quickly proving to be impossible to dislike in person.

“Don’t know where Peter and Joan have got to,” Agatha was grumbling, when Demelza found a seat near to her. “They ought to be here by now. I’ll not have my supper kept late just because that wretched boy can’t tell time.”

“Hardly a boy, Auntie,” Francis smiled. “I’m sure they’re just held up in traffic. The roads weren’t great getting here, and we only had to come a few miles. We’re in Sawle,” he explained to Demelza, when she looked an enquiry. “Normally we’d walk, but I didn’t like the look of the weather.”

“It was bad coming from Truro,” she nodded. “And the heating in Ross’s car has given out. I’m not looking forward to the journey back.”

“It’s always something with that car,” said Francis, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know why he just doesn’t give in and get a new one.” Demelza shrugged. She’d never owned a car in her life, so she didn’t feel qualified to comment. But Ross’s dogged attitude towards his car had always struck her as being like his attitude to the problems he saw around him: a refusal to give up, no matter how dire the situation might seem to be. “So you work at the Trust, Verity said? That’s how you know Ross?”

“Yep. I’ve been there two years, now.” He nodded, expression encouraging, so she elaborated. “I’m what they call operational logistics – which basically means I make sure everything keeps moving. Applying for funding, organising the projects we work on, that sort of thing.” 

“Ah, I remember,” Francis snapped his fingers. “You’re the one Ross always says keeps everything going!” 

“I always say it takes a woman to get anything done,” Agatha said, chuckling. “Good for you. I bet you picked Ross up off the floor last year, too, hm?” Demelza wasn’t the only one to blush at that; Francis, too, coloured. Agatha either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Ah, the Poldark men are all fools in love,” she went on. “Take William, there. Head over heels, he was, but she was no better than she ought to be, and now he can’t even see his children at Christmas.”

Francis cleared his throat. “He has them every other year, Aunt.” He couldn’t meet Demelza’s eyes now, clearly uncomfortable. She’d had every intention of disliking him, but it was obvious that he was, in his own way, as unhappy about the whole situation as Ross was – and she couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for him. 

“I think everyone’s a fool in love,” she said. “Haven’t we all done stupid things? For love?” Agatha snorted and shook her head, but Francis gave her a quick smile. A change of subject was needed, though, and she cast about for something inoffensive. “This house is gorgeous,” she said, gesturing vaguely around them. “I bet it was great growing up here. My nephews would love it – they’d be all over it.”

“It was,” Francis agreed. “And Ross was only just down the road, practically – only three miles – so we all grew up together. He was always here, or we were there.” 

“Inseparable, they were,” Agatha put in. “Two peas in a pod, the pair of them. Always getting into scrapes. Ross lead the way, of course. But Francis got his own way some of the time, eh, boy?” Francis raised an eyebrow sceptically, shrugging one shoulder. “Boys are like that, though. Always in trouble. Not Verity, now. Little Verity.” She looked across the room towards her great-niece with an undeniably fond expression. “Good as gold, she was.”

“Verity was with us in pretty much all of it, Auntie,” Francis protested. “Ross – Ross, come and make sure Demelza doesn’t end up thinking Verity’s a saint.”

Ross had escaped his uncle, and now he joined them beside the fire, folding himself down onto the floor and leaning against the arm of Demelza’s chair. His shoulder was pressed up against her leg, and she clung with grim resolve to the knowledge that it wasn’t real. At least she couldn’t see his face, which meant she couldn’t see those devastating smiles. That was some comfort. His smiles were far too dangerous for her own good.

“Verity isn’t a saint,” he said obediently. “Why, what are we talking about?”

“Growing up at Trenwith. Which you practically did – I’m sure you were here more than at Nampara.”

“Probably,” Ross agreed. “We were more like brothers, I think, than cousins.” Even Agatha heard the tension in that. She looked down her nose at Ross and gave him a fierce look, just as fierce as Ross had been in the entrance hall, not ten minutes earlier. She didn’t say anything, but after a moment Ross shifted his weight a little. “We lived in each other’s pockets,” he said. “But it was good. Only child, me,” he added, tilting his head up to look at Demelza. “I dread to think how I’d have turned out without Francis and Verity to knock the corners off me.”

“Oh, so this is you _after_ having the edges rubbed off?” she teased him. He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and so was Francis, so at least the tense moment had passed without bloodshed. She glanced around the room to make sure Elizabeth was still occupied – it seemed safest to keep her and Ross apart, if she could, judging by Ross’s reaction to Francis. She hoped the seating arrangements for supper weren’t set in stone. But Verity seemed utterly sensible of the inter-family issues, and Demelza doubted she would be silly enough to sit Ross next to Elizabeth tonight. Elizabeth had drifted over to the window; she had pushed aside the curtain and was looking out at the darkness beyond, where the snow was falling worryingly thickly. Demelza bent over a little to speak quietly to Ross. “I don’t like the look of that snow,” she said. “You said it wasn’t getting bad.”

“It wasn’t.” But Ross looked towards the window too, and frowned. “Well…but Francis, you’ve got your Land Rover, right?”

“Yes – and you’re welcome to it,” nodded Francis. “But if it gets worse, you’d be fools to try to drive in it.” Somewhere in the house a phone rang, audible over the carols that still played in the background. Charles shouted for Verity to answer it, and after a few moments the ringing stopped. 

“I knew it would snow,” said Agatha, with a smug smile. “Felt it in my bones, didn’t I? No sense fussing, little bud.” Agatha meant her, Demelza realised. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about Ross’s great-aunt giving her a nickname. “Nobody can change the weather. Not even Ross, for all you think he hung the stars.”

“Auntie…”

“There’s a nice warm bed upstairs, and plenty of breakfast for everyone,” Agatha went on, heedless of Ross’s groan. “Be sensible, the pair of you.”

“We don’t need to decide yet,” Ross insisted. “It’ll ease off soon. It usually does.” He sounded as determined as she was that he would get her back to Truro tonight – and probably for the same reason. Agatha and Charles had both talked about a bed, singular. Of course, they would presume that Ross and Demelza, as a couple, would be alright sharing a bed. And probably there wasn’t another bed available. Trenwith was big, but she didn’t imagine all the bedrooms were in use, nowadays. Probably half of them had been converted into bathrooms, anyway. It was the kind of house where every bedroom had an en suite bathroom, or so she imagined. And with William staying, and the other cousin who hadn’t arrived yet, probably the house would be at capacity. No room for delicate feelings about sharing a bed. And there would be nothing more likely to make people wonder than an insistence that she couldn’t sleep in the same bed as her supposed boyfriend.

“Bad news,” announced Verity, from the sitting room doorway. “That was Peter. The A390 is closed both ways because of an accident, and they’ve had to turn back. Apparently it’s got very icy, and the council hasn’t mobilised the gritters yet.”

“There you are, then,” Agatha said triumphantly. “No decision to be made. It’ll take hours to clear that road, and you can’t possibly risk ice.”

“So we can have supper at last,” Charles declared at the same time. “Hurry up and serve, Verity. Francis! Come along, boy.”

Ross rose and went to the window, and Demelza followed him as Elizabeth stepped aside to make space. “It’s not looking great,” he admitted. “I don’t know where this came from. What do you want to do, Demelza? If we started now, we’d manage to get into Truro, I think.”

“But then you’d have to get back here,” she pointed out. Outside, the snow was falling thick and fast, turning the large lawn white. She twisted her fingers together and stared out, trying to make a decision. But of course Agatha was right, there was no decision to be made. Wherever this snowstorm had come from, it would be stupid to brave it out, even in a Land Rover, especially if the main road was already closed. And if they _did_ get through, if Ross did get her home, then what? She couldn’t allow him to try to make the journey back, and there was no way she could let him spend the last hours of Christmas Eve searching Truro for a hotel with a room. And Rosie wouldn’t let that happen, either. She’d insist Ross had to stay, and there was no spare bedroom at home. One way or another, Demelza realised, she was going to be sharing a bed with Ross tonight. 

This whole evening was spinning wildly out of control. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then Ross’s hand closed on hers, stilling her fingers. He was warm and his touch made her skin tingle. Oh, she was in so much trouble.

“Your choice,” he said. “We can leave now, if you want.”

“No, we can’t risk it,” she decided at last. “We’d better stay.”

* * *

At least the food was good. Ross could console himself with that. Not that it was any surprise – Verity was an excellent cook and seemed able to conjure mouth-watering meals out of nothing – but at least he hadn’t dragged Demelza out here just to eat bad food.

And, with driving off the table for the night, he could have a drink. That was _definitely_ consolation. 

In fairness, and setting aside the unexpected weather, the evening was going alright so far. Partly because Agatha and Charles were, between them, setting the bar quite low, but also because of the others. Verity was always an excellent hostess, and had sensibly arranged the seating so Elizabeth was the other end of the table to him. Francis was at his most charming, William was making sure the conversation kept moving along, and Demelza…

Demelza was a life-saver, and Ross knew he wouldn’t be anything like as comfortable as he was if she hadn’t come with him. From the moment he’d pulled into the drive at Trenwith, he’d taken strength from her. And okay, it had been awkward at first, pretending she was his girlfriend – reminding himself to touch her, not jumping out of his skin when she reached out to him, not to mention lying to his family – but the awkwardness had faded fast enough. Surprisingly fast, really. It was startling how comfortable it had become since they’d arrived. And that quiet moment in the entrance hall, talking about his family, and then her obvious concern for how he was feeling…it had felt natural, to share family history with her, just as it had been natural to reassure her that he wasn’t doing as badly as she thought. 

He hadn’t been lying to her; it _wasn’t_ as hard seeing Elizabeth, seeing her with Francis, as he’d feared it would be. Perhaps he was still too angry with them to remember how in love he’d been. He would never forget how it had felt, walking in on them together. It had broken his heart and shattered his love for Elizabeth, and despite what Demelza clearly thought, he truly wasn’t still in love with her. He was even glad they were happy together, she and his cousin. 

The worst part of it, as Demelza had said, was the first few minutes. The initial meeting now that they were established together, and married. And obviously Charles and Agatha weren’t helping the situation at all, poking at the scabs to see if they were healed over yet. But Ross felt surprisingly okay about it all, and more than anything else, he was just thankful that he had Demelza with him. Alone he would have been the rejected lover; with her here, he didn’t have to bear that weight. It was above and beyond the call of friendship, what she was doing, and he would never be able to repay her. 

Demelza was sitting next to him now, Verity clearly having decided that she would need to be close to him in order to survive a Poldark family meal. Probably a sensible decision, all things considered, and it meant he could periodically make sure she was doing alright, as he did now.

She smiled at him, warm and friendly, with a twinkle in her eyes that he’d never noticed before. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “You can stop asking every five seconds, honest.”

“Just checking,” he said, holding up a hand in a gesture of innocence. Her smile widened into a grin as she rolled her eyes at him, then she turned her attention back to her food and the conversation she was listening to between William and Francis. Ross leaned back in his chair and watched her. She wasn’t talking much – nerves, he thought, from catching sight of her occasionally twisting her wine glass around and around with fidgety fingers – but when she did speak, she added volumes. In a funny way, he was quite proud of her. It couldn’t be easy, facing a strange family on Christmas Eve, particularly under the circumstances. 

Not that he had any right to be proud. He frowned to himself and prodded the idea. Proud. Yes, he _was_ proud of her. Proud, and grateful, and enjoying her company. Peculiar. Not peculiar that he was enjoying her company – he always did, even when it was just at work – but that he was proud of the way she was tackling his off-beat family, and that he was so pleased that she was enjoying herself. Still, she was a friend. A good friend. That was, after all, why he’d invited her. Of course he was glad a friend was having a nice time at an event he’d dragged her to.

“Careful, you’ll set the table cloth on fire,” Verity murmured to him. She was seated on his other side, between him and Charles, and she was clearly keeping a close eye on them both. Ross plastered on a smile and endeavoured to look less pensive. “Is it so very hard?” she asked, keeping her voice low to avoid being heard by anyone. “Still? Even now you have Demelza?”

“Not as bad as I thought,” he admitted, matching her tone. “No, I was just thinking.”

“You’d better watch that,” she teased, smiling her familiar lopsided smile. “You might hurt yourself.”

“Ha, ha.” He straightened up and poured some more gravy over his plate. “But it’s not,” he added, just to reassure her, because he could see she was still worried. “Very hard, I mean. And anyway, like you said, I have Demelza.”

“She’s certainly taking this in her stride,” Verity said, gesturing around the table with her fork. “No, Auntie, there’s no more potatoes. But there are more carrots – and roast parsnips. Francis, would you – oh, thank you, Elizabeth.” She turned back to Ross. “I like her a lot,” she confided. “But I knew I would, after all you’ve said about her. And you’re so happy together. I can see it.” Ross made a noncommittal noise and ate a bit, while Verity turned to answer a question from her father. He tuned back into Demelza’s conversation.

“No, we do a fair bit of fundraising,” she was saying to William, “but a lot comes from grants from other charities and trusts. And some government money, though not as much as it used to be.”

“Don’t get me started on that one,” Ross muttered, low enough that nobody except Demelza heard him. She shot him an amused look, but didn’t comment. 

“But it’s worth doing,” Francis said, reaching for the bottle of wine. “I remember my aunt setting it up, and Ross starting there – I couldn’t do it myself, but I can see it’s worthwhile.” He seemed to like Demelza as much as Verity did. Not that Ross was surprised – Demelza was inherently likeable – but it irked him, somehow, to see her smiling at Francis as warmly as she smiled at him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at _all_.

“We enjoy it,” he said, interjecting himself into the conversation. “It’s good to feel you’re making a difference in the world. And I couldn’t do it without Demelza. I don’t know how we ever managed without her.”

Predictably, Demelza flushed, and hid away behind a denial. “No, no, that’s not true. Ross has built up a really great team, and we all pull our weight.”

“Maybe so,” said Verity, leaning forward so she could see past Ross to Demelza, “but they aren’t the ones he talks about whenever I get him on the phone.” Now it was Ross’s turn to flush, as Francis and William joined Verity in chuckles and grins. He really didn’t think he talked about Demelza that much. Verity was exaggerating – probably because she was so pleased he’d finally moved on from Elizabeth. God only knew how she’d react when he told her, in a few weeks, that he and Demelza had decided they were better off as friends. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Verity had bought into this relationship far more than he’d intended, when he’d had the idea of bringing Demelza as his date.

“Take the compliment, Demelza,” advised Elizabeth, from beside Francis. She had been talking to Charles, but now everyone seemed to be paying attention to Ross and Demelza again. “Ross rarely gives them out, and never undeserved.”

He looked across the table at her, meeting her straightforward gaze. She looked good tonight, hair pulled up and away from her face, trim and elegant in a blue top that suited her perfectly. Once upon a time, he’d thought her practically perfect, the woman with whom he wanted to spend his life. Now, though she was still beautiful, though she was still attractive to him, he no longer felt drawn to her in the way he had before that day, over a year ago now, when he’d found her in bed with Francis. Looking back over their time as a couple, he could see the awkward places where their lives hadn’t quite been able to fit together. The slight strain between his passion for his work and her desire for the finer things in life, a strain they had both ignored. He’d loved her – god, how he’d loved her – but there were reasons to be glad that they’d parted when they had, if not for the way they’d parted. 

It was still hard to look at her and not remember that moment. Opening the bedroom door, expecting to find the room empty – home early because a meeting had been cancelled – only to see Elizabeth and Francis curled up together in the bed, naked, clearly post-coital. It had been one of the most awful experiences of his life, and it was not easily forgotten. He might be able to admit that their life together might not have lasted, but he was still angry about the way it had all unravelled. 

His lip curled as he thought about it, and he looked away, down at his plate. He lifted his fork mechanically to eat. His other hand rested on the table, and after a moment Demelza covered it with her own. Verity, bless her, had already begun talking, to fill the silence that had ensued after Elizabeth’s words and his own reaction. One of those ‘do you remember’ stories that cropped up at these sorts of family events, this time about his mother. Some anecdote about when she had set up the Trust. Ross ought to shake himself free of this attack of bitterness and join in – it was about _his_ mother, after all – but he couldn’t quite.

He turned his hand under Demelza’s and clasped it, twining their fingers together. She gave him a gentle squeeze. The bitterness drained away, and he squeezed back and gave her a slight nod. Yes, he was alright, he conveyed. And he was, truly. It was all in the past, that bitterness and anger and heartbreak. He didn’t feel those things now as strongly as he had even a few months ago, at the wedding. The memories were still painful, but memories faded, given enough time. Elizabeth was no longer his, and he was okay with that. Really, truly okay.

He leaned closer to Demelza and murmured: “I’m glad you’re here.” Their faces were close together, so close it would have been easy to kiss her. If they were really a couple, he would kiss her now. He glanced at her mouth, and then, confused and ashamed, looked away again. He’d never thought about kissing Demelza before. The atmosphere, the pretence – it must all be getting to him. 

“Me too,” Demelza murmured back. She seemed oblivious to his momentary twinge of curiosity. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three will be posted tomorrow :) glad you're all enjoying it!


	3. I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know

“Honestly, I couldn’t eat another bite,” Demelza protested, as Agatha tried to persuade her to have a little more pudding. She wasn’t exaggerating; the supper had been gorgeous, and she’d eaten to the point of pleasant, sleepy fullness. “Verity, you’ve _got_ to give me your recipes – the boys would love that Beef Wellington. And the trifle.”

“Of course,” said Verity, with a wide, pleased smile. “It’s all family recipes, not written – I know them by heart now. But I’ll write them out for you. Let me have your email address and I’ll send them over.”

“No rush,” Demelza assured her. “I don’t think I’m going to eat again for a month.” 

The three of them were in the kitchen, almost sequestered together. Agatha had come to have her evening medication, Verity was clearing up, and Demelza had insisted on being allowed to help. They were interrupted every few minutes by the male cousins, who were trooping back and forth bringing dirty crockery from the dining room. Elizabeth had taken it upon herself – bravely, Demelza thought – to help Charles back into the sitting room, make sure he was comfortable, and keep him company until they could all join him. 

The kitchen was clearly the heart of the house, spacious and airy and filled with all the normal household clutter that was mostly absent from the entrance hall and the dining room. This was a room that was lived in, rather than used occasionally, and it showed. By the door there was a corkboard covered in bits of paper, by the back door there was a pair of Wellington boots, on their sides, and the kitchen table was covered with a table cloth that had seen better days. Demelza liked it immediately, and had insisted that Verity allow her to stay and help clean up. 

It didn’t hurt that helping Verity would mean being out of the limelight for at least a few minutes. She was very aware that all through supper, everyone around the table had been taking her measure and, if not outright judging her, at the very least evaluating her merits. She had coped okay with it, but even so, she was glad of a break.

“Skin and bones,” Agatha sighed. “Still, I suppose Ross likes ‘em that way, eh, Verity?”

“Auntie!” Verity put a hand on her hip and gave her great-aunt a reproving look. But Agatha just chuckled and gulped down her pills, clearly not at all chastised. Verity rolled her eyes, and looked apologetically at Demelza. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This must be overwhelming enough without Auntie trying to stir up trouble.”

Demelza shrugged and kept rinsing plates. “It’s not a crime to suggest Ross has a type,” she said, forcing lightness into her voice. She didn’t like being compared to Elizabeth, of course – she did enough of that for herself without wanting anyone else to look at them and measure them up against each other – but taking umbrage wouldn’t help matters. It would be more likely to make Agatha poke harder, if anything. She seemed the sort to do that, and she was old enough to get away with it.

“Of course you must have known about…what happened,” Verity said, lowering her voice even though neither Ross nor Francis was in the room. “With Elizabeth. You were already at the Trust then, weren’t you?” Demelza nodded. “It can’t be easy for you tonight, I know. But you’re doing marvellously. And I’ve not seen Ross this happy in a long time. You’ve transformed him.”

That startled Demelza. “Really?” She knew he had been more settled lately, but happier? Maybe. She supposed so. But not because of her. He _was_ getting over Elizabeth – she could accept that he was telling the truth about that, now that they’d all spent more time together – but he wasn’t there yet, and even if he was, it could hardly be anything to do with her.

“Truly,” Verity assured her. “Doesn’t he seem so much happier, Auntie?”

For a moment Agatha looked as though she was going to be contrary, but then she relented and gave Demelza a smile and a nod. “Yes, he does,” she agreed. “Back to his old self, almost. Whatever magic you’ve worked, girl, keep doing it.” Demelza flushed and ducked her head to focus on the dirty crockery. Agatha chuckled and drained her glass of water. “Shame we’ve no mistletoe in the house. I bet they look just fine together!”

“ _Auntie_!” Verity exclaimed. But Demelza couldn’t help smiling. Not at the idea, which was truly awful and filled her with horror – because there would be nothing worse than being kissed by Ross and knowing it was all a sham – but at Agatha’s leering tone of voice. She was feisty, for all she looked so frail, and was clearly not letting her age keep her from having a bit of fun. And it was only the three of them in here, so it wasn’t like Agatha was exposing her to the laughter of the whole family. If they were in the sitting room with the others, with Charles to take his aunt’s cue and egg her on, she would mind more. “Honestly, Auntie,” Verity scolded. “You’re going to run the poor woman out of the house at this rate!”

“Run who out of the house?” It was Ross, coming into the kitchen with two handfuls of dirty cutlery. “This is the last of it, Verity. What’s Auntie said now?”

“Nothing,” said Verity firmly. “Nothing at all. Demelza, I think we’ve finished here. Thank you for helping. Ross, why don’t you turn on the outside lights and take Demelza upstairs to show her? The garden is always so lovely in the snow.”

“I – sure, okay.” Ross looked rather startled, but he shook it off and crossed the kitchen to the back door. “It’s still heavy, though. I don’t think we’ll see much.”

“We don’t have to,” Demelza murmured. Being alone with Ross was not high on her list of priorities, especially given the ordeal that lay ahead of her, later tonight.

“Go,” said Verity, wiping her hands dry on a tea towel. “Dad will be dozing by now, so it’s a good time to go. Take ten minutes for yourselves.” She smiled her warm, wide smile. “It’s lovely, truly,” she assured Demelza. “Trenwith is magical in the snow.”

Demelza shoved her hands firmly into her pockets as Ross lead her back to the entrance hall, up the staircase, and along a narrow landing. Magical in the snow, indeed. She had heard what Verity hadn’t said, loud and clear. Romantic, she meant. Ten minutes alone, in a darkened room, looking out at a snowscape lit up by security lights. She supposed that at least it meant that she and Ross were putting on a good show. Verity and Agatha had both bought into the lie. It wasn’t a cheering thought. In fact, she felt downright glum as he opened a door and ushered her inside. And how, she wondered, would he explain it to them, after Christmas when he let them know that he and Demelza had parted ways, better suited as friends? Not that it was her problem. She was only here doing him a favour. She just had to hold on until morning. By then the roads would be gritted, and she could escape home. Back to Rosie and the boys, for a proper family Christmas.

He touched the small of her back as he directed her towards the window, making a shiver run up her spine. She wondered if he was even conscious of doing it. There was no audience here, no reason for him to touch her, but his hand lingered until they were at the window.

Then her cares fell away, at least for the moment. She leaned close to the window and breathed a deep sigh.

“Oh,” she whispered. “It really is beautiful.”

Though Ross was right, the snow was still falling heavily, she could see enough to be grateful that Verity had sent them up here. The lights she’d talked about weren’t just the standard security lights – they were there, of course, fixed somewhere to the building and spilling pools of bright whiteness into the snow – but also fairy lights, whole strings of them, spread across trees and bushes and along paths. They shone yellow through the snow, each creating a little pocket of illumination, around which the snowflakes danced. It was utterly enchanting. She could stand here for hours and not get bored.

“Yes,” Ross murmured. He sounded strange, but Demelza couldn’t tear her gaze away from the wonderland outside. She leaned nearer to the window, until her nose was pressing against the glass. “Yes…beautiful.” He cleared his throat. “Demelza, I…”

She turned her head. He was standing closer than she had realised. In the dark room, lit by snow, his skin looked paler than usual. He was looking at her with an expression she’d never seen before – looking at _her_ , not out at the snow. Her heart started pounding, her stomach was a mass of butterflies, and her mouth was dry. It would be such a perfect moment for a kiss, if they were truly a couple. Quiet and romantic and _perfect_. She caught him glancing down at her mouth, just briefly, and her breath caught in her throat. Oh God, she thought wildly. Did he want to kiss her? Would he? 

“Demelza,” he said again. “I…”

Somebody was coming along the landing, and a moment later, the room’s electric light was switched on. Demelza flinched away from it and stared out at the snow. Ross exhaled a huff of air. 

“Oh, sorry,” said William. “Am I interrupting? Only Uncle Charles is awake again, and we’re all going to have a go at some card games. I’ve been sent to find you.”

“We were just looking at the snow,” Demelza told him brightly. “It’s so beautiful. But we can come down, can’t we, Ross?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah. It’s fine, William. You weren’t interrupting anything.” She winced slightly, and glanced at him. He was still watching her, his expression still unfamiliar. She wished she knew what was going on inside his head. But of course it was all the Christmas atmosphere. The carols, the alcohol, the food…the snow. He was probably just feeling the effects of it all. He’d never, _ever_ shown the slightest inclination towards her in the past, and she knew she mustn’t let herself begin to hope. That would be the worst outcome of all.

“Brilliant,” William said cheerfully. “I’ll just nip to the toilet while I’m up here. See you downstairs.”

“Yeah,” Demelza murmured. “Downstairs.” She glanced outside one more time. With the room’s light on, it was harder to see anything outside, but the snowflakes beat against the window and made her feel rather cold. “I’ll just go to the toilet, too,” she said, suddenly desperate for just a couple of minutes to herself, to steady her nerves.

“Sure. Use the one in this room – it’s where we’ll sleeping tonight.” Ross moved away from her and Demelza kept her face towards the window until he was gone, determined to hide the heat in her cheeks at the mention of the sleeping arrangements. Sleeping, she thought miserably. How bloody marvellous.

* * *

“I don’t think Demelza will last much longer,” smiled Elizabeth, leaning forward in her chair a little to speak to Ross. “She’s almost asleep now.”

“We’ll go up soon,” Ross murmured. He, Demelza and Elizabeth were loosely gathered together in front of the sitting room fire. The candles on the mantelpiece had burned low, the fire was crackling merrily, and carols were still playing from the old CD player in the corner. The CD had been repeated several times over by now. In the dining room, Charles, William and Francis were still playing cards, each one of them determined to be the ultimate winner. Poldark stubbornness in action. Ross had bowed out over an hour ago, when Verity had suggested that anyone bored of card games should feel free to find something else to do. He, Verity and Demelza had all drifted into the sitting room, where Demelza had somehow cajoled Verity into recounting all his most embarrassing childhood exploits.

Elizabeth had joined them not long afterwards. It might have been awkward, but somehow it hadn’t been. It was as if a burden of turmoil had been lifted from Ross’s shoulders, leaving him free to be glad that she was happy, and free to find pleasure in an evening spent with his family.

He very carefully did not think about how that pleasure had been immeasurably enhanced by Demelza’s presence. He had been very carefully _not thinking_ about Demelza for some hours, in fact – as much as he could, with her sat beside him, her hair glowing coppery in the candlelight, her laugh ringing out often, her smile lurking in the edges of his gaze even when he was trying to avoid looking at her.

Madness, he told himself. The snow, the dark, the way she’d pressed her nose up against the glass to see better – it had all added up into a moment of madness. After all, he’d never thought about kissing Demelza before. Not once. He’d known her two years, and he couldn’t remember ever thinking about kissing her. He’d never wondered what it would be like, never wondered if her lips would be as soft as they looked, or if she would melt into his arms, or what it might be like to taste her skin. 

And yet now he was having to consciously avoid thinking about those things, and it was proving to be impossible.

He’d wanted to kiss her upstairs, when she’d been so enthralled by the sight of the snow and the lights in the garden. Verity had said Demelza was pretty, but in that moment it hadn’t been prettiness that Demelza glowed with – it had been beauty, and life. So much life. He had, all at once, discovered that she was irresistible to him, and he would have kissed her then, if William hadn’t come barging in. 

Which had been a good thing, Ross reminded himself now, glancing at Demelza. She was on the other end of the sofa, shoes off, feet tucked under herself and head resting on the arm of the sofa. Her eyes were closed; he couldn’t tell if she was awake or asleep. She looked rather like a sleepy kitten, crashed out after a long evening’s play. She looked adorable, which Ross supposed was better than desirable. And yet he did desire her. Even now, in the warm sitting room, with Verity and Elizabeth both sitting close by…even now he still felt that impulse, that urge, to kiss her. 

But it was absurd. She was a friend, a good friend, and a work colleague. One for whom he had never had anything but platonic feelings before. He knew his own mind, his own heart – he would know if he had ever felt anything more. Surely he would know? This was just…Christmas madness. That was all. And sharing a bed with her tonight would be fine. Just fine. It was a big enough bed; he would have one side, she the other, and he would _absolutely_ not be thinking about reaching over to touch her. At all. 

God, he was an idiot. He would ruin everything if he wasn’t careful. And all because it had been too long since he’d had sex – because that was all it could be. Too long abstinent, and then this evening, seeing Elizabeth, things had got stirred up. It was a good thing William had interrupted them before he could do something stupid, something that might jeopardise his relationship with Demelza. Tomorrow he would drive her back to Truro, and in the New Year they would go back to work together as colleagues and good friends. Everything would be back to normal. 

“I like her,” Elizabeth said quietly. “She’s very sweet.” 

Ross snorted and shook his head. “Not the word I’d use,” he said. She was too fierce for that. From tackling trustees to battling the local council on behalf of one of their clients, Demelza was a force to reckon with. Fierce: that was the word. Fierce, kind, sensitive…but not sweet. He wouldn’t use that word. Though he supposed she might seem so, to someone who didn’t know her. Particularly on an evening like this, when she’d clearly been nervous about being thrust into a family evening, the outsider upon whom all eyes had been fixed. Her nerves had translated into her being quieter than usual; perhaps that was what Elizabeth mistook for sweetness. 

“No? Well, it’s a hard thing, to come in and face the Poldarks en masse.” Elizabeth gestured around the room. “She must have been very nervous.” Agatha was fast asleep in her chair; Verity was busy at the other end of the room with her laptop. From the dining room, they could still hear the raucous card game going on, none of the three players willing to admit defeat and so the game continued. Ross doubted they would get to bed before midnight. Probably they were no more chaotic than any other family, but it was true they were very tight knit, and he knew that could be off-putting to some. Intimidating, even, especially when Agatha was in one of her moods.

“You should know,” he said, idly. “You did it.” 

“That was different,” she claimed. “I had met almost everyone before I first came to a family gathering.” Ross hummed noncommittally. Yes, Elizabeth had known most of the family. They’d been together for three years, after all, and living together for much of that time. She was probably right about it being harder for Demelza. He should have – 

Should have done what? Introduced her to Verity first, so at least she knew someone? But this was all a charade. They’d both come into this evening knowing it was just to get Ross through any awkwardness. Alright, yes, she’d been rather thrown in at the deep end, but the chances were she’d never meet any of them again, so it didn’t really matter. Getting her and Verity together before this party would have just made it harder for Verity to accept it, in a few weeks time, when he planned to casually drop into conversation the fact that he and Demelza were better as friends. 

Which they were. Much better as friends. And this new awareness of her, these impulses to reach out and touch her soft skin and see how she responded – it would all disappear, in the cold light of day. Anything else was unthinkable. Too much had been wrecked when he and Elizabeth had broken up. He refused to wreck his friendship with Demelza, nor risk the working environment at the Trust, just because one evening spent pretending to be a couple was making him wonder what it would be like to truly be in a relationship with her.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Elizabeth said then, in the quietness between one carol and another. Ross dragged his eyes away from Demelza and looked at Elizabeth. She met his gaze and then, unusually for her, faltered and looked away from him. “I know I…I hurt you so much.”

“Elizabeth –,”

“No, let me speak,” she insisted. Ross fell silent. The tapping of Verity’s fingers on her keyboard, across the room, seemed to slow, and then to increase, as if Verity had decided she wouldn’t interfere. He glanced at Demelza, but she seemed sound asleep now, not even the barest flickering of an eyelid suggesting that she might be awake. “I hurt you unforgivably,” Elizabeth said steadily. “I can’t ever forgive myself for it, anyway. So I’m… _so_ glad that you’ve found happiness again.”

“Elizabeth,” he sighed. All evening he’d lied to his family, and to her, and somehow they’d all decided that he was happy, that he and Demelza were well-suited. He hadn’t expected it, and it certainly wasn’t helping him keep Demelza firmly in a box marked ‘friend’. 

Because after all, she _did_ make him happy. It brightened his day, seeing her smile when he got into the office in the morning. Those days when she’d brought him a piece of cake and a coffee, after the break-up, had made him feel a little less alone in the world. Working lunches inevitably descended into gossip and chatter. Drinks after work ended up lingering as they talked about everything and anything, setting the world to rights over a long-drawn-out pint. Her laughter was infectious, her opinion on their work invaluable. He didn’t know how the Trust would manage without her. 

And, he realised suddenly, he didn’t know how _he_ would manage without her. Not just at work, but as part of his life. The idea of her not being there was utterly unpalatable, but eventually she would move on. She was too good at what she did to stay at a small charity like the Poldark Trust. And then she’d be gone, out of his life, leaving a hole that could never, ever be filled.

“Shit,” he whispered. He really _was_ an idiot. More than an idiot. A complete, total moron. A blind fool. Had he really thought, just a few moments ago, that he knew his own mind and heart? And earlier, when he’d told Verity he’d never noticed that Demelza was pretty – he’d meant it at the time, but now…now he looked back on these last few months and realised that his eyes had been drawn to her, again and again. It was like all pieces of a jigsaw puzzle were being scrambled in his head, rearranging themselves to show him a different picture. Not a picture he’d ever consciously thought about, but one that was, nonetheless, crystal clear. 

“Ross?” Elizabeth asked. “What is it?” 

He was in love with Demelza. He was in love with Demelza Carne…and he had no idea what to do about it.

* * *

“No, I’m fine, Rosie. Honestly.”

Ross paused outside the bedroom door. He would never ordinarily eavesdrop, but he felt shaken by his epiphany, and besides, there was an odd, weary note to Demelza’s voice that made him hesitate to go inside. 

“No, no. I’ll be back before then. The council’ll get the gritters out.” Then silence. Ross peered through the door that stood a little ajar. The landing was dark, but the room was only dimly lit, so he couldn’t see much. Just a vague impression that she might be by the window – the curtain was pulled back, spilling bright moonlight across the floor, interrupted by a shadow that moved as Demelza spoke. “Don’t be daft. Of course not. It’s not like that, and you know it. Don’t make it worse. Please.”

Ross frowned, wondering what Rosie was saying to make Demelza sound so fed up. She hadn’t been like that when they’d come upstairs. Sleepy, yes – she really had been asleep on the sofa, though she’d roused easily enough when he’d gently woken her. Adorably sleepy, and once Ross had taken her hands and hauled her to her feet, he hadn’t been able to resist the impulse to press a kiss to her forehead. After all, he’d excused himself, they were meant to be in a relationship, and it would look odd if he didn’t show affection to her. 

She’d followed Verity upstairs, borrowed something to sleep in, and retired into the en suite bathroom to change. Ross had gone to the other end of the landing, to the main bathroom, to give her a bit more privacy. He hadn’t bothered asking Francis for something to sleep in; his boxers and t-shirt would do fine, and he could walk over to Nampara in the morning for clean clothes. There were always new toothbrushes for guests, so he’d used one of those, used the toilet, decided he couldn’t delay going to the bedroom any longer, and set off down the landing to face the night.

But in the time he’d taken, Demelza had gone from sleepy but contented to awake and miserable-sounding. 

“Yeah,” she said, after another pause. “Yeah, I know. Look, I’d better go, he’ll be back soon. No, I know. I will. Give the boys kisses from me in the morning. Yep. Night, Rosie.” She sighed, then he heard a click-thunk, like a phone being dropped down onto a table without any particular care. He raised his eyebrows. She really _was_ feeling fed up. She was usually much more careful with her belongings. He heard another sigh, and then footsteps across the floor. Time to go in, he decided. He knocked lightly, but pushed the door open before she could answer.

“Safe to come in?” he asked jestingly, stepping into the bedroom.

“Sure,” Demelza said, sounding distracted. “Why wouldn’t it be?” She _was_ by the window, peering out at the snow-covered garden beyond. That was why the room was so darkly lit, he assumed – so she could see outside properly. She wasn’t wearing pyjamas, but a rather long, slightly-old-fashioned night dress that could only have come from Agatha. Her hair was loose and tumbled down her shoulders, almost down to the middle of her back. He cleared his throat. 

“Just checking,” he murmured. “Was that Rosie? I’m so sorry not to get you back this evening.”

She turned to face him. “Not even you can control the weather,” she said, her tone light and teasing but her expression taut with some constrained emotion. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but he wasn’t fast enough. Demelza let the curtain fall across the window and moved towards the bed. “But yes,” she went on, “that was Rosie. She’s fine, the boys are fast asleep.” 

“Good,” Ross said vaguely. “Good.” It was really, really unfortunate that these impulses to kiss Demelza had surfaced tonight, of all nights. Even a dowdy Marks and Spencer nightie didn’t seem enough to stop him wanting to cross the room, take her in his arms, and kiss her. But he reminded himself, firmly, that she had no idea how he felt – that he himself had been aware of his feelings for barely more than an hour – and that, in any case, it would be completely inappropriate to accost her like that in this particular situation. Too soon, too intimate, too much pressure. He could never do that to her. 

“I hope they do get the gritters out, though,” she said, as she turned back the duvet on the bed. Oh God, he thought, the bed. This new awareness of her, physically, was hardly conducive to sleep, not when she’d be right there next to him. But Francis and Elizabeth had opted to stay, rather than drive down to the village in the snowstorm, and they’d taken the clean sheets from the bed that Peter and Joan should have used. That left the house short of bedding, and anyway, there had been no good excuse he could give to explain why he and Demelza couldn’t share a bed. Even if they hadn’t had sex yet, in this relationship they had acted out all evening, they could still share a bed, and even gentle Verity would have been curious if he’d pushed the issue. “I don’t want to be late back,” Demelza was saying. “Drake and Johnny’ll be nightmares by ten o’clock, and I promised Rosie I’d help her with the roast.”

“They’ll be out overnight, Christmas or not,” Ross assured her, finally managing to take another few steps into the room. “There’d be too many accidents, if they didn’t.” He kicked the door shut. The sound of it made Demelza jump, and Ross tried to summon a reassuring smile. “The door doesn’t stay shut unless it’s slammed,” he said. “Old house. You know.” 

“Oh. Right.” She stopped fidgeting with the duvet and started twisting her fingers together. It was such an obvious tell. She was as nervous as he was; he wondered why. The thought occurred to him, fleetingly, that perhaps she was nervous about him – about his conduct, about how he might behave – but he dismissed that idea almost as soon as it came to him. She knew him better than that. “So, um…do you mind which side?” she asked. 

Ross put his bundle of clothes on a chair. “I usually sleep on the left,” he said, “but I don’t mind.” She nodded, but didn’t get into the bed. He turned away from her to give her a bit of privacy, crossing the room and pushing aside the curtain to peer out at the garden. The snow had finally stopped, but he was glad they hadn’t tried to drive back in it, despite the ordeal of sharing a bed with Demelza. It would be different in the morning, when the roads were gritted. But tonight, even in Francis’s Land Rover, it would have been too dangerous. “It’ll be fine in the morning,” he said aloud. Behind him, the bedsprings squeaked. “We can go right after breakfast.” 

He let the curtain fall and turned back to her. She was in the bed, looking rather young and pale in her borrowed night dress. And suddenly it didn’t matter any longer that he was awake to the physical sensations she created in him; all that mattered were the emotions. He loved her. He didn’t know how long he’d loved her, how long he’d been pushing it away, but he knew it now. It would change everything – it had already changed everything – but one thing that would not, _could_ not change, was his respect for her. No matter what he might really want, absolutely nothing was going to happen now. Whatever relationship they might have in the future, it would take time to build, and couldn’t be begun tonight. He owed her too much to take advantage of the situation. They would share the bed as friends, and Ross would make this as easy for her as he could. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” he offered quietly. “I’ll be fine with a blanket.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said at once. “You’ll get too cold. And it’s a hard floor.”

“Still, I –,”

“It’s fine, Ross,” she overrode him. “Come on. I don’t know about you, but I’m done in.” She lay down, turning onto her side so her back was facing the middle of the bed. He took the hint and joined her on the bed. He couldn’t sleep on his side, so he lay on his back, but he was very careful not to touch her at all. The duvet was big enough for them both to share without having to be too close, or just about. As long as neither of them moved too much, it should be fine.

He reached out and turned off the light. Demelza sighed, and shifted slightly. Ross counted to ten once, and then again, before risking speaking.

“Thank you for tonight,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“You’d have been fine,” she said. Her voice sounded odd – weary and thick, like she was getting a cold. “It all went well, didn’t it?” He nodded and hummed an agreement. “So it was worth it.” She yawned, a little too loudly to be real. Once again, the hint was obvious. She didn’t want to talk; she wanted to get to sleep. He stifled a sigh. 

“Sleep well, then,” he said softly. Demelza mumbled something in response, and then she was silent. After a while, her breathing became slower and deeper as she drifted into sleep, but it took a long, long time for Ross to relax enough to follow her into slumber.

* * *

When Demelza woke up, it took her a while to remember where she was.

For a while she was too warm and comfortable to notice anything different, but eventually the silence of her environment began to creep in, bit by bit making her aware that she wasn’t in her own bed. There was no alarm clock shouting at her to wake up, no nephews knocking at her door and sneaking into her bed. No traffic on the road outside as people began to head off to work and school. Just…silence.

Except not quite silence. There was the slow, steady sound of somebody breathing, quite close to her. And suddenly Demelza knew where she was. She remembered Ross picking her up last night, the cold drive out to Trenwith, the whole agonising evening, and the sudden snowstorm that had kept them here. She remembered getting into bed and feeling the mattress dip as he’d got in next to her. The feeling of desperately wanting to be asleep, just so she could escape from his presence and find some oblivion for a while.

She opened her eyes. The bedroom was still relatively dark, but grey pre-dawn light filtered around the edges of the curtains, and after a minute her eyes adjusted. She had turned around, sometime in the night, so instead of facing away from Ross, she was looking right at him. He was still on his back, but his arm was bent, so his hand was resting against her stomach, and his face was turned towards her. She allowed herself the daydream of thinking that perhaps he’d reached out for her in his sleep. But even if he had, it wasn’t _her_ he’d been reaching for. Just a warm body, beside him in the bed.

She felt like there was an iron band around her heart, squeezing mercilessly. After everything that had happened yesterday – the brief kisses, the touches, and all culminating in sharing a bed with him – she didn’t know how she was ever going to be able to pretend that it had all been an act, and that she was perfectly happy being his friend. Rosie was right; she just wasn’t that good an actress. And even if Ross was over Elizabeth, as he claimed…even then, he had never shown the slightest indication that he was aware of her as a woman. Not before yesterday evening, that was, but that had all just been for his family’s benefit. He’d done it well, and she’d felt, briefly, like the centre of his world. But it was all a lie.

She carefully rolled away from him and slid out from under the duvet. Ross didn’t stir. Carefully, quietly, Demelza tiptoed across the room to the window and pulled the curtains back to peer out at the snow-covered world beyond. The Trenwith garden truly was a winter wonderland, all coated in white snow and rimed with frost. Everything seemed to glow, even now, with the sun not quite peeking over the horizon. A small figure ran across the lawn: a fox, picking its paws up daintily as it went. Demelza leaned her forehead against the cold glass and swallowed against a lump in her throat. Tears pricked at her eyes and she didn’t have the willpower to stop them.

“Demelza?”

She jumped, and hurriedly tried to dry her eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ross – did I wake you?” He’d got out of bed without her noticing, and now he came close, his body radiating heat. His hair was dishevelled, and his boxers were dangerously close to falling off one hip. He looked half-asleep still, and it was adorable. Her heart ached even more. She was being allowed a glimpse into what life with Ross might be like. That was all. This wasn’t hers, not really, and no amount of wishing and hoping would make it otherwise. But oh, it _hurt_ that it wasn’t hers. She’d thought she loved him before, but now it seemed like she had only just scratched the surface. She’d seen so much more of him, over the past day – facets of his life, of his character, that she’d only guessed at before. Ross with his family. Ross at home, or as good as. And she had fallen more in love with every passing hour and every tender gesture he’d made towards her. 

She was an idiot and a fool and if her heart wasn’t broken already, she knew it soon would be. After today everything would get back to normal, and she didn’t know how she was going to cope with that.

“Are you alright?” he asked, in a hushed voice. “You look –,” He cut himself off, clearly thinking better about whatever he’d been going to say. Demelza tried to summon a smile, but couldn’t manage it. “Hey, hey,” Ross murmured. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I’m just being silly.” She blinked away the tears and tried harder to smile. Ross was frowning in confusion. After a moment he put his hands on her bare arms, rubbing them gently to warm her up. He did it so casually, like he was used to reaching out and touching her, which was strange, even by the standards of the last twenty-four hours, because Ross wasn’t usually a touchy-feely person. It was nice – comforting – but strange. Still, it wasn’t odd enough for her to pull away. She couldn’t do it. His hands rubbed up and down her arms, smooth and almost tender, and she couldn’t even attempt to stop him. 

“I’ve never known you to be silly,” he told her. “What is it?”

“Nothing, really.” She changed the subject. “Look – isn’t it beautiful? I’ve never had a white Christmas before. A few flakes, maybe, when I was a kid, but nothing like this.”

“It is beautiful.” He stopped rubbing her arms but didn’t stop touching her. His thumbs rested just over the pulse at her wrists. He wasn’t looking out at the snow and, embarrassed, Demelza turned her face away from him, back towards the window. “But why are you awake so early?”

“I never sleep well in strange beds,” she lied. “I saw a fox out there a minute ago. I hope it’s got somewhere warm to go.”

Finally he stopped touching her, turning to stand side by side with her, looking out at the garden. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “There’s plenty of nooks and crannies around here. Plenty of rabbits to eat, too.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile. “I bet Nampara looks gorgeous this morning,” he murmured. “It’s nothing like Trenwith – a proper farmhouse, not a grand place like this.” He knocked his fist against the window frame. “There’s always something or other that needs doing to it.”

“And you’ve lived there your whole life?” She was hungry for all these little crumbs of information, even though she knew it would make it worse. 

“Except when I went to university, yeah.” 

Demelza pondered it. She’d lived in so many different houses in her life, and even now she was only, really, a guest in Rosie and Sam’s home. Her room was hers, and she contributed to all the bills, but the house was in their name. It was cheaper to live with them, and she knew Rosie valued her help with Drake and Johnny. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else – or in one place all her life. 

“Must be nice,” she said at last. “Having that. Like you’re…like you’ve got a root system.” He chuckled, and outside the sun began to spill a pale yellow light, slowly, onto the snow. 

“Hey, d’you feel up to a walk?” he asked suddenly. She glanced up at him and saw a familiar, excited expression. This was Ross with an idea. She’d seen it before, many times, at the Trust, buzzing with enthusiasm and keen to drag her along with him. She raised an eyebrow. “Verity’s bound to have spare Wellingtons hanging around, and Nampara isn’t far - well, a bit far, but it’s a gorgeous walk, right along the cliff path. I need to go and get some stuff anyway, and I’d love for you to see it.”

“It’s – God, what time is it? It’s not even properly light yet,” she protested. “And freezing!” Even inside, with a thick carpet underfoot, she was feeling the cold. 

“So we’ll walk fast and keep warm.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes bright and his smile infectious. Damn that smile, the open, friendly expression that had always made her want to say yes to him. Even now, it was working. A cold, three-mile walk in the early hours of Christmas morning was just about the last thing she felt like doing, especially with Ross, but she could feel her will weakening. “C’mon,” he coaxed her. “I promise you a whole pot of tea, when we get there.”

Demelza had to smile. “Do you even own a teapot?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Ross shrugged. “…Fine,” she agreed. “Okay. Find me boots that fit, and I’ll come. But only because you promise tea.”

* * *

The problem was that she was quite clearly a glutton for punishment, Demelza thought glumly as she walked through the snow at Ross’s side, her arm tucked through his to keep herself steady. Any sane person would have refused to go for a walk at the crack of dawn, especially when it had been snowing hard, and _especially_ along a cliff path. Even Ross, who claimed to know every inch of the path between Trenwith and Nampara, was treading carefully, and she, who had never been here before and was wearing borrowed Wellington boots that were a little too big, had quickly realised that if she didn’t want to end up face first in the snow or twisting her ankle on a hidden dip, she would have to cling on to him.

The proximity to him was doing absolutely nothing for her heartache, but at least it kept her upright.

And she had to admit, it was beautiful. The whole world felt still and silent. The snow was pristine except for a few paw prints and, occasionally, claw prints. The sea was calm, the sky was clear, and they might have been the only two people in existence. It could almost be called romantic – a young couple out for a stroll in the snow – except for the fact that she could barely feel her toes. And, of course, the fact that she and Ross were definitely not a couple. 

”Sorry, it’s a bit harder than I thought,” Ross apologised, when she nearly tripped over something hidden under the snow, saved only by their linked arms and his quick reaction to steady her.

“It’s fine,” she said. It wasn’t really a lie. Despite it all, she was almost enjoying herself. The fresh, cold air was bracing, and the snow truly was beautiful. “I’m just glad there’s a fence between me and the edge of the cliff,” she added with a wry smile. 

“I’d never let you fall,” Ross said seriously. A bit too seriously. She frowned up at him and tried to work out what was behind it. He was behaving so strangely this morning. They’d been walking for a good twenty minutes now, and he kept _looking_ at her. Quick glances, mostly, but once or twice he’d almost stumbled and she was sure it was because he’d been too focused on her to keep an eye on where he was going. It made her feel…well, she didn’t quite know how it made her feel, except that it was strange. Just as strange as it had been earlier, in the bedroom, when he’d tried to warm her up. It wasn’t normal behaviour for Ross, and it made her a trifle wary. With anyone else, she would have laughed and asked if there was something wrong with her face. With Ross, even, she would have done that – before yesterday. 

Now she felt too self-conscious, too excruciatingly aware of how easily her secret might be uncovered, to want to say anything. And she might so easily make a mistake, after everything that had happened yesterday. But there was no audience this morning, nobody to lie to, so any slip she made would be impossible to excuse away. Before yesterday she’d worked hard at pretending he was just a friend, but now she knew a little of what it would be like, to be loved by Ross, and she was so afraid that she would say or do something stupid and ruin everything. Better not to ask why he seemed to be in such an odd mood.

“You look like you’re thinking sad thoughts,” he said, guiding her towards the left-hand fork in the path. “Again. Just like when we woke up.”

“No, no,” she denied. “Just thinking. No sad thoughts, I promise. It’s Christmas! Nobody should be sad on Christmas.”

“I agree, but you definitely look sad.”

“I look cold, that’s all.” The hand on Ross’s forearm was almost numb. Her other hand, thankfully, was in a pocket. Ross hadn’t been able to find any gloves, and she’d put her foot down and said she’d manage, rather than allow him to wake Verity. Her coat was warm enough, but she hadn’t anticipated the weather, or the walk. No scarf, no hat, no gloves – no thick socks, either, which she could do with to make her boots fit a bit better. 

Ross didn’t say anything. They tramped on through the snow for a while longer, until at last Demelza had to make an effort. Minimal conversation to enjoy the scenery was one thing; utter silence was quite another.

“What about you?” she inquired. “How are you feeling this morning, about…everything?”

“About Elizabeth and Francis, you mean?” She nodded, and Ross exhaled, a huff of air that condensed in the cold. “I think they’re happy together,” he said. “I’m pleased about that. And no, to answer to the question you’re not asking, I’ve not suddenly realised I’m still in love with her.” Demelza pressed her lips tightly together to keep from making a comment. “She’s as lovely as ever,” Ross went on, “but I think…” He trailed off, and gave her another of those quick glances that she was finding so unsettling. 

“You think?” she prompted. 

“Occasionally,” he grinned. She smiled and rolled her eyes at him. “Seriously, though, I did a lot of thinking last night. And I’m still angry with her and Francis, for how they did it, but it’s not…” He waved his free hand, as if trying to summon the right words. “It’s not the way it was,” he settled on. “Not so important. Like I said, she’s happy, and how much of a jerk would I be to want her to be unhappy, just because I wasn’t the one for her?”

Demelza couldn’t help herself. “She did a bloody awful thing to you,” she pointed out. “You’re entitled to be angry about it. Having sex with someone else in your house is pretty low.” If it had been her, she’d have felt every bit as angry as Ross. And every bit as heartbroken. Elizabeth and Francis seemed decent enough people, generally, but what they’d done to Ross was unspeakable. 

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” she said firmly. He shrugged, and she stifled a sigh. She was biased, after all, and his feelings were his own affair. If he could be happy for Elizabeth’s happiness, Demelza had no business holding onto a grudge on his behalf. “Well, it seemed to go pretty well,” she said, trying to shake off her misplaced indignation. “And I’m glad you’re feeling better about it all.”

“Well, it’s in the past,” he said. “No point keeping looking back, is there? And in the end, I don’t think we’d have lasted. Our priorities are too different.” Then he changed the subject. “All this talk about my love life – my past love life, I mean – and I don’t know a thing about yours.”

“Oh! There’s nothing to tell.” She felt like she’d missed a conversational step, somewhere, and this was territory that she would much prefer to keep him away from. “I don’t have much time for dating. I mean, there’s work –,”

“And your boss is a slave driver,” Ross put in, grinning. 

She laughed and shook her head, but didn’t bother responding to the bait. “And obviously there’s my nephews. Rosie works all the hours there are, and Sam’s away so much. Honestly, it’s practically a full time job looking after them, on top of my actual job. So I just don’t have much time. And,” she added, “I don’t think most blokes would really understand about the boys. It’d be like trying to date as a single mum, sort of. Who wants the hassle of that much family drama?”

Ross stopped walking suddenly, and Demelza had to grab onto him with both hands to keep from falling. “The right man wouldn’t care,” he said, with a sudden, strange intensity. He stared at her, meeting her eyes without wavering. “The right man would understand how important your family is to you, and love you all the more for it.”

His seriousness made it hard to smile, but she had to try. She _had_ to steer him away from this dangerous conversation, and away from the way he was making her feel. His eyes fixed on hers, his brow furrowed, he was as stern and fierce as ever she’d seen him, and utterly, unspeakably attractive.

This was unbearable. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to be persuaded into this walk. More time alone with Ross was the last thing she needed if she was ever going to be able to forget yesterday evening and move on as friends – and eventually, hopefully, to get over him. But every time he flashed that smile at her, with that mischievous twinkle in his eye, she was lost. 

She cleared her throat. “Well, there’s not many men like that around,” she managed. “You know what they say about kissing lots of frogs before you find a prince. Come on, we’ve still got ages to go, and I’m cold.”

“Sounds like you’re not giving yourself much of a chance,” Ross said, standing firm. “You’re not even kissing the frogs, are you?” There was something strangely pleased in the way he said it, like she’d confirmed some suspicion for him and he was feeling good about it. Smugness was never attractive on anyone, and it was irritating enough to jolt her into action. 

“Like I said, I don’t have time.” She tugged at their joined arms, but he was unmoveable. “Ross, seriously, I’m cold. You promised me tea. If we don’t get moving soon, I’m going to freeze to the spot, and you’ll be the one explaining that to Rosie.”

“In a minute,” he murmured. And then, quite without warning, he cupped her cheek with his free hand. He was cold, and she shrank away from his touch both because of that and because it was so unexpected. But Ross didn’t let her go far. He used his hand to keep her face upturned towards his, and then – 

And then he bent his head down to meet hers, and he kissed her.

* * *

Ross hadn’t planned to kiss Demelza. 

He’d thought about it, of course. When he’d woken this morning to find her standing at the window peering out at the snow, wearing that ridiculous nightie and with her hair tangled around her shoulders, he’d wanted to kiss her. When they’d emerged from Trenwith into the frozen outside world, he’d wanted to kiss her. As they’d walked away from the house, he’d kept glancing at her, appreciating the way the cold and the exercise was bringing a flush into her usually-pale cheeks and wondering how else he might make her flush like that.

But of course he hadn’t intended to kiss her. Not today, nor indeed at any point in the near future. He’d only just realised his own feelings, after all, and he had no idea how Demelza felt. He knew she liked him as a friend, but she’d never given any indication of anything more. Still, yesterday evening she’d at least _acted_ like she was in love with him, and he thought – or, really, he _hoped_ – that perhaps that meant there might be scope for more romantic feelings on her part. In any case, today was not the day for startling declarations of love, and he’d had some vague idea of maybe asking her out again, after the New Year. Once they were back at work, he could maybe suggest they really went out for that meal they’d concocted together, at the seafood restaurant by the bay. A real ‘second date’. 

He hadn’t planned to kiss her today, especially not in the snow on the cliff path between Trenwith and Nampara. And yet here he was, kissing Demelza, while his toes were freezing in his shoes and she, no doubt, was even colder. 

She wasn’t pushing him away, though. She wasn’t exactly kissing him back, but she wasn’t pushing him away. She stood as still as if she really had frozen to the spot. Her lips were pliant under his but not responsive. When he’d pressed his mouth to hers, he’d heard a faint sound, like a breath catching in her throat, but then she’d been silent. Silent and motionless. Not exactly a kiss to build dreams on, but still, it could be worse. She could have pushed him away. She hadn’t done that, and she still wasn’t. And when Ross ended the kiss, lifting his head away from hers, she didn’t start yelling, even though he deserved it, for accosting her like that without warning.

She didn’t shout at him, but she didn’t say anything either. She stared at him, eyes as big and round as ever he’d seen them, and she took a deep, shaking breath. Ross let his hand fall away from her face. 

“Demelza,” he said, and then stopped, because Demelza closed her eyes and held up a hand. She took another breath. She was shaking, her hand visibly trembling in the space between them. He kept his mouth shut. It was the least he could do, even though all he wanted was to fill the air with the understanding he’d come to last night – that he was in love with her, that he _loved_ her, that she was the brightest part of his life and he wanted them to be together properly, not just as a farce to show his family that he was alright. But he didn’t; he kept quiet.

Finally she opened her eyes and spoke. “Where did that come from?” she asked, so quietly that it was almost lost under the sound of the sea, roaring as it lashed at the cliffs below them.

“I said I did a lot of thinking yesterday,” Ross said. It sounded lame, even to his own ears. “Not just about Elizabeth – I did think about her, obviously, about what happened, and how I’m feeling now, but it was a lot more than that, too. But Elizabeth was the one who made me realise…”

“Realise what?”

He glanced around. They were still alone, still the only two people visible. Not that he’d expect anything else, on this desolate little stretch of coast, especially given the time of day. There weren’t even any birds calling. Only the sea disturbed the silence, and the wind, which was beginning to pick up.

“This isn’t how I planned on saying it,” he muttered. “We should get on, you’re cold –,”

“I’m not moving a single step until you tell me what that was about,” Demelza said, her voice rising into an almost shrill tone. “You don’t just kiss people out of nowhere without a good reason!”

“I have a good reason –,”

“Then tell me!” she insisted. 

“I love you!” he exclaimed. “Is that good enough?”

Silence. She stared at him, and he rubbed a hand across his mouth and jaw, feeling like a complete idiot. Of all the stupid ways to tell her, this had to be the worst. First kissing her like that, then blurting out his feelings – he was a total idiot, and if she turned tail and ran, he’d likely deserve it. What happened, he demanded of himself, to taking it slow? He’d sworn to himself that he respected her too much to take advantage of their proximity, last night, and yet he’d basically done just that this morning. Kissing her the way he had, without giving her a chance to refuse, without giving her any warning…that wasn’t respect. She deserved better than that, and certainly better than him just flinging out those three important words like they were nothing, like they were a way to win an argument.

“I love you,” he said again, much softer now. “I didn’t know I did until last night, but I think I’ve been in love with you for a while, now.” She had shoved her hands into her coat pockets, and he was sure that was the only reason she wasn’t twisting her fingers together, her usual anxious tic. “Everyone kept saying how happy I was,” he went on, desperate suddenly for her to believe him. “Verity was so pleased – and I thought okay, that’s good, she believes us, but I couldn’t understand why she believed so easily. Only, she said I talk about you all the time.”

“That doesn’t mean –,”

“I know it doesn’t, but it’s not just that. It’s – it’s –,” He floundered. He wasn’t good at this stuff. He wasn’t good at expressing himself. Not out loud. No matter what he thought to himself, no matter how sure he was, getting the words out was never easy. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” he managed at last. “I don’t _want_ to imagine my life without you in it. You’re the best – the _best_ thing in my life, Demelza. I’ve been an idiot, I’ve been so blind, but I’m not now.” 

Her eyes were sparkling, but not from happiness. She was almost crying, and Ross cursed himself and reached out to her, wanting to pull her into his arms. But Demelza stepped away from him and shook her head. 

“Don’t say things like that,” she said, in a choked voice. She was holding back tears, but it was clearly a struggle. “Don’t _say_ things like that, Ross, it isn’t fair –,”

“Demelza, I –,”

“You don’t mean it,” she denied. “You can’t. You love Elizabeth – you’ve _always_ loved Elizabeth, it’s always been her.”

“I thought it was, but it wasn’t – it _hasn’t_ been her.” He was missing something, some vital clue to explain why she was so upset, but he didn’t know what that might be. “Not for a while now. I didn’t know it – I’ve been such an idiot – but it’s been you. I’m in love with _you_.” The tears were falling down her cheeks now, but she wasn’t bothering to wipe them away. Determined to make her understand, Ross kept trying to put his feelings into words. “I look forward to seeing your smile every morning,” he told her. “I love how you scrunch your nose up when you don’t like something, and how you light up when you’re talking about your nephews. Those days when you left cake on my desk – it kept me going, knowing you were thinking about me, that you cared.”

“Of course I cared,” she choked out. “Of course I did.”

“I want to take you on those dates we made up,” he said, ploughing on. “Proper dates, just the two of us, not evenings in the pub with everyone else. And I want to come over at the weekends and help you look after the boys, because they’re so important to you and I would _never_ think they were a hassle, or drama, or anything like that. And I want to – to make you watch the rugby with me, and fall asleep next to you so you’re the first thing I see when I wake up –,”

“Ross,” she whispered, “don’t say these things if you don’t mean them.”

“Why can’t you believe I do mean them?” he asked, finally beginning to get an inkling about that missing clue. 

“Because the only reason I was there last night was to help you cope with being around Elizabeth!” She finally wiped her cheeks, but the tears were still falling. “I saw you practically every day after the break-up, Ross – I _know_ how much you loved her.”

“You were there because I needed your support,” he contradicted. “Yours, Demelza. I couldn’t have done it with anyone else, and I didn’t even think of asking anyone else. Just you.” He risked stepping towards her, closing the gap between them. This time, Demelza allowed it when he reached out to hold her, taking her by the elbows and drawing her against himself. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry for hurting you.” It was a guess, but he thought it an accurate one. She sniffled a little and let him fold her into his arms. “I have hurt you, haven’t I? I’ve been such an idiot.”

“Don’t,” she muttered. “You’re not an idiot. I never wanted you to know.” That confirmed his suspicion. His heart began to soar, and he hugged her closer to him. “I didn’t want to be just a rebound, and how could I ever be anything else? You loved Elizabeth so much.”

“I did love her,” he agreed, “and part of me always will, but not like that. And you could never be ‘just’ anything, not ever. This is not about a rebound, Demelza – I promise. It’s nothing to do with anyone else.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, the nearest bit of her that he could reach, wrapped up in each other as they were. “It’s just _you_. You with your bright smile and your stubbornness –,”

“Hey –,” she protested, thumping a fist lightly against his chest. “Look who’s talking!” She snuffled again, and finally looked up at him. The tears had stopped, leaving her eyes and nose red. She was still trembling, but that was probably the cold. They really ought to get moving, either onwards or back, or she’d end up freezing. “Ross,” she said softly, wonderingly. “You do mean it, don’t you?” He nodded. “And – you’re sure? It’s not just because of last night?” He looked an enquiry, and she made a face. “Lying to your family, pretending we were together. Maybe you’ve just been swept away by it all.”

“I’m sure.” He tucked her hair behind her ears and tried not to beam a grin at the way she turned into his touch. His happiness felt like an explosion waiting to happen, an energy contained inside him for now but that would soon burst free. He loved her. He loved her, and she loved him – he was sure of it, even though she hadn’t said so. Why else would she be so afraid that he didn’t mean it, so unwilling to believe? He’d hurt her by not noticing her feelings, and now she was trying to protect herself. “This isn’t sudden,” he added. “I know it seems it, but the sudden part was realising the truth.” She was beginning to smile, a hesitant joy beginning to dawn in her eyes. “I love you,” he said again. “Demelza, I _love_ you.”

“Oh, Ross.” She wiped a hand across her eyes again and then, slowly, reached out to touch him, trailing cold fingers down his jaw. “I’ve loved you for so long,” she whispered. “I never thought you’d even look at me.”

“I’m not looking at anyone else,” he promised. “Not now, not ever.” He turned his head to kiss her fingertips. “Now for God’s sake, let me kiss you properly.” 

Her shining eyes gave him all the permission he needed. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with all the love and longing that he had discovered within himself. All for her; his Demelza. The most precious gift he could ever receive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coda/epilogue will be posted tomorrow :)


	4. Epilogue: make my wish come true

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you've all enjoyed this Christmas fic :) thank you for all your kind comments. Enjoy this final coda!

 

 

“Should we wake them up?”

Demelza glanced over at the armchair, where Drake and Johnny were slumped side by side, both fast asleep. They’d absolutely insisted that they could stay up until midnight to see the new year in, but Rosie had still insisted that they put on pyjamas and brush their teeth before coming back downstairs to join them. And, predictably enough, they’d both nodded off at just past ten, despite swearing blind that they weren’t sleepy, honest. Rosie had just rolled her eyes and poured another glass of wine for everyone.

She and Ross had commandeered the sofa. His legs were stretched out under the coffee table, his arm was around her shoulders, and Demelza was happier than she could remember being in a long time. She leaned up against him and marvelled anew at the idea that this was allowed now. More than allowed, it was positively encouraged.

Ever since that walk on Christmas day, Ross had been at pains to assure her that he meant what he said. And though she couldn’t entirely shake free the spectre of Elizabeth that had haunted her for months, she _did_ believe him. He honestly, truly loved her. They’d gone on to Nampara that morning and talked at length, he trying to explain his revelation and she admitting how long she’d been in love with him. Afterwards they’d walked back to Trenwith, and then he’d driven her back to Truro. They’d parted with a promise to speak later, on the phone, and Rosie had pounced on Demelza with a hundred questions after seeing Ross kiss her goodbye.

Since then, they’d seen each other every day, and with every day that passed, Demelza felt more confident and more assured of his feelings. When Rosie had invited him to spend New Year’s Eve with them, Demelza had been pleased, even though she knew it would leave her open to her sister-in-law’s teasing. Now, curled up beside him and basking in the warmth of his easy, honest affection, she was more than pleased. She was so very happy.

It was Ross who had asked the question. It was nearly midnight; just a few minutes to go. The television was on low, some celebrity or other gesticulating wildly in front of a crowded audience. It would switch to an outside camera soon, when the countdown started, ready for the fireworks as the old year passed into the new. As far as Demelza was concerned, though, the important stuff was right here.

“We probably should,” Rosie said with an exaggerated sigh. “God knows how we’re going to get through tomorrow, they’re little monsters without enough sleep.” She put down her wine glass and gave Johnny a gentle shake.

“We’ll make it a quiet day,” said Demelza as Johnny and Drake slowly dragged themselves awake. Drake crawled into Rosie’s lap and Johnny yawned so widely and contagiously that Demelza mimicked him, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

“Is Ross going to be here tomorrow?” Drake mumbled. “Is he having a sleepover with Auntie?”

“Only if you don’t mind, Drake,” said Ross, perfectly seriously. “Would it be okay if I stayed?” She loved how he interacted with her nephews, taking them seriously when they were serious and laughing and playing when they wanted to play. Not that he’d changed at all – he was just the same way he always was with kids, giving them his full attention when he was with them. It was one of the things she had always loved about him, it was just that now she was seeing a lot more of it. He’d meant it, apparently, when he’d said the right man wouldn’t think her family situation was an obstacle.

She entwined their fingers and brought his hand to her mouth to kiss his knuckles. He squeezed gently and offered her a warm smile.

“Yeah,” Drake said, after a long deliberation. “You make D‘melza happy. Right, Johnny?” Johnny, still half-asleep, just nodded.

“Don’t I get a say?” Demelza inquired mildly.

“No, sweetie,” said Rosie, full of condescension. “You don’t. You couldn’t even make up your mind to tell Ross you loved him, so you’ve forfeited decision-making rights for at least another month.” Demelza opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again, because there was really no argument she could bring to bear. Besides, she didn’t really mind. They’d talked about Ross staying over tonight, since it would be a late one. Nothing would happen – they’d just be sleeping – but still, the idea that she’d be going to bed with Ross was a thrilling one.

“It’s time!” Johnny exclaimed suddenly, making a dive for the remote control. He turned the volume up unnecessarily loudly, just in time for the count down. Both boys joined in, shouting the numbers. “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”

Fireworks exploded on the television screen, echoed a few moments later by fireworks somewhere nearby, close enough that it was probably someone on the same street. In the kitchen, the dog howled his displeasure. Drake and Johnny were yelling ‘happy new year’ at the top of their lungs.

“Happy new year,” Ross murmured to Demelza, low enough to be heard over all the racket. “I think it’s going to be a good one.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Yes, I think it is.” She lifted her head and kissed him, while Rosie tried to quieten the boys and the fireworks continued, both on the television and outside. Yes, she thought, it promised to be a very good year indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two will be posted tomorrow :)


End file.
